This Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I remember someone else born January 15. I didn't commit to writing until the eighth grade, when a classmate had a book published in the school library, but my imagination was first sparked by my sixth-grade homeroom teacher. Yes, she was twenty-six and super-hot, but she also taught English, assigning a journal as one of our projects. She was a Hofstra alum, so I decided to attend Hofstra.
She got married that summer, inviting the class to her wedding. I practiced self-denial and did not attend.
Today, she leads Toddler Time at her local library: "Stories, rhymes, songs & crafts. (Children must be accompanied by an adult.)"
Happy birthday. I hope I've made you proud.