I learned a lot about difference, othering and patience from you. I always wondered if your mom drank during pregnancy and that’s what happened. I bet it was.

You knew your times tables in second grade. We competed for teacher’s pet. I loved you for being smart and was intimidated because you knew something I didn’t.

You called me by my sister’s name for the entire year. Did you honestly not realize how offensive that was? Newsflash: I have always been my own person.

We were good friends but I secretly hated you because you “stole” my best friend. It didn’t matter that I had new friends too, you were still competition.

I remember you fondly, but I’m afraid that you might have used racist examples in your children’s sermons. Not good. It seems long ago, but it’s not, really.

You taught me to read directions and enough biology to get through high school. Mostly, I remember the phrase, “It’s not hard, it’s just different.” So true. Thanks.

We were both quiet and shy. My two best friends and I had crushes on your two best friends and you. My role was to pine for you.

You physically restrained me to keep me in your classroom. It wasn’t your fault, or mine, that I arrived in kindergarten knowing how to read and convert fractions.