Dear Teacher, When we walked into your classroom nine months ago, the kids were younger. I was younger.  We were younger. That first day, they brought more than crayons, and markers, and index cards, and wide-ruled paper. They brought dreams and hopes and future goals, neatly packaged into a 12" x 12" crate lined up against a wall. Every morning since that first morning, I passed my human batons to you in the marathon of youth, and each afternoon, you'd pass them back. Smarter. Wiser. Taller. Full of stories of what they'd learned, how you'd stretched them, protected them, and pushed them...