A Poem Celebrating Women’s History Month
Warriors for the Working Day
When I was a little boy,
my mom worked,
And so one day I went to daycare,
Where she let go of my hand,
And someone else,
A woman I did not yet know,
Took it in hers,
And took care of me.
When I was old enough for school it happened again:
My mom walked me to
Held again my little hand,
Until a different woman
warmth and love.
Kindergarten, first, second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth grade were all the same.
I was cared for by wonderfully smart women.
They taught me to add, subtract, read, write, spell and share.
I am a teacher today because
of all of them,
But especially Mrs. Ridge, who let me read to the class after lunch.
When I became a father,
My wife and I turned our boys over to women as well:
Jenny, Mrs. Hopkins, Victoria Forrester, Katrina Staten.
Thank you for helping make my boys the great men they are today.
As a teacher I have been surrounded and inspired by amazing women:
Jane Golden and Debbie Bradshaw, Linda Yarbrough and Linda Koistinen, Eileen Walsh and Shane Flemming, Olivia Higgins and Terri Elkin, Kirsten Zazo and Teresa Tenorio and Fran Kahane.
Each of them a warrior for the working day.
My current women co-workers are part of that same great class, making the world better each period, each day, each lesson, each child.
I am awestruck by all of you:
If the world were right, and knew what I know,
There would be statues erected in order to show,
Until they filled every park and town square
A forest of heroes, everywhere.
Until then, know that my heart is filled with all of your love and loyalty,
Your wisdom and fierceness, your kindness and goofiness,
And that I have never forgotten all the times you held my hand.