Every Tuesday, I help out in my son's kindergarten class during 'centers.' The kids are broken into groups of five, and we work on activities that would be too difficult to manage with the entire class. I generally don't work with my son. He's a little disappointed, but it's nice for me to observe him across the room, to see how he interacts with the teacher and the other children.

I arrived a few minutes before 'centers' time this week and walked into a quiet classroom. The kids were away at the computer lab with their big buddies. The school pairs kindergarteners with sixth graders twice a month - they do activities together, and the kids love it. They were emailing Santa, and as the kids trickled back into the class and said goodbye to their big buddies, I caught the teacher and her long-time aide giggling.

When the teacher saw my raised eyebrows, she pulled me closer and whispered "See that girl right there?" She gestured to a tall, pretty sixth grader who was hugging one of the kids goodbye. "When she was in my kindergarten class six years ago, we couldn't keep her shoes on her feet. As soon as she'd hit the door, her shoes and socks would go flying off, and we'd spend all day trying to get her to keep them on. One would be in the play yard. One would be under a table. She'd leave one in the toy basket, and one outside the classroom door."

I smiled and chuckled. "Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, well. Look at her now." The teacher and the aide both turned their gazes to the smiling girl as she waved bye and skipped out the door. They both sighed and smiled. "She was with us for two years, and we thought she'd never keep her shoes on. They really do grow out of that kind of thing." She turned her face towards my son, who was laller laller lallering in a circle around his big buddy, who was trying to capture him as he orbited. Both boys were giggling like mad. "And then again, sometimes..."

My son's big buddy is a personable, chatty kid who, like the shoeless wonder, had my son's teacher six years ago. When the list of kids came in to be paired up, the teacher instinctively knew that my son and his buddy would be a perfect match. The two of them talk simultaneously, jabbering about different subjects and happy as clams talking over the top of one another as they work on their projects.

Standing next to my son's teacher, watching her eyes, I knew that she had a room full of memories of children past and present, spanning years. Someday, she'll be matching my daughters and son with little buddies of their own, and she'll remember the two year old asleep with splayed legs and elephantine snores in the stroller as I picked up her older siblings. She'll remember the little boy who loved dinosaurs and couldn't stop talking. She'll remember the five year old girl who galloped like a horse everywhere she went. She really knows these kids, and she follows them as they grow.

I have a fresh appreciation for these teachers who spend their days with our children. It's not just a job for my son's teacher - she loves these kids, even the ones who can't keep their shoes on, or who cry when you tell them to sit on a dot. She sees them grow up, and move on, and she is rooting for them, no matter where they go after leaving her care.

My daughter's first grade teacher is tough. We struggled to adapt to her classroom structure, but I've also gained an understanding, and a respect for the way she runs her class. The kids are thriving, and they are all learning at a tremendous pace. I have no doubt that her teacher is proud of 'her' kids, too.

I sobbed my way home when my oldest started kindergarten. I mourned the loss of being the major influence in my child's day. I didn't want some random teacher being the superstar in my kid's life. I've come to realize that I'm still a major influence, and yet her teachers are expanding her horizons, and adding wonderful new dimensions to her world in a way that I haven't been able to. They've helped her love learning. And they have truly gotten to know my kids. They are creating memories of my children.

My son's teacher smiled softly at the antics of her former students and her current students. I stood there with a bittersweet tang in my heart. It felt like I could see into my future, watching my son playing with a larger version of himself. Sometimes they grow out of their quirks, leaving only a memory of scattered shoes. Sometimes the quirks linger, and you can see the younger child clearly as the words tumble in a torrent from their grinning lips. As parents, we get glimpses of our babies as our kids grow. Teachers get to see a fresh class of little imps, all with quirks that recall another child from a previous class. They see it all, and they remember it.

Remarkable.