When we were very young my sister thought I could fly. She was convinced of it for almost a year. The whole thing started because we slept in bunk beds. Being older, I had the upper bunk. One night, deep in sleep, I tumbled out of bed. My sister went running into my parents’ bedroom to tell them that I had gone flying past her and was now sleeping on the floor. She was amazed and would not believe that I had fallen, no matter how many times they tried to tell her. For a little while there I was her own private hero. I remembered that today when I was grading my students’ notebooks. I teach middle school English. One of the eighth graders had written all over the inside cover of her notebook. This is what it said (errors and all).A skater broke my heart so I broke his board.I heart thee beach.I heart my English.I love boys with cool shoes.Miss Kerr is thee best.Being a hero is hard. I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it, but I’m going to have to do my best anyway. Maybe she’ll remember that later when she grows up and finds out that my teaching was more like falling out of bed than flying. Maybe she’ll remember that I tried, even if I didn’t always get it right. Maybe that will be enough.