Back when cursive was cool and so was dotting your i’s with hearts.

When I was eight years old, my Aunt Joann drew my name for our family Christmas gift exchange. Her choice of gift was, to this day, one of the most perfect gifts I have ever been given. Knowing my deep and abiding love for Nancy Drew mysteries, I opened the beautifully wrapped package from her only to discover eight brand new hardback Nancy Drews that I had yet to read.

My response?

I screamed for a solid thirty seconds.

And don’t lie, you totally wish you had those glasses when you were growing up.

I have held on to my Nancy Drew mysteries through the years and gleefully placed them on the library shelves of my classrooms. Several of my girls have gotten a hold of them this year and are loving them as much as I did. I have one little girl that comes up to my desk every time she finishes a chapter to tell me what Nancy is up to and who she suspects is the villain.

I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.

Yesterday during a break, one of the girls brought over one of my Nancy Drew books, held open the cover and looked up at me with a smug little grin on her face. There, on the front panel of the book in my eight year old handwriting, “I {heart} Jeremy Tilley.”

Ah, yes. Jeremy Tilley. The heartthrob that never gave me the time of day but whose deep brown eyes and fluffy brown hair captured my little third grade heart. “Yes,” I told the students who were starting to gather around with much giggling, “I had a huge crush on Jeremy Tilley.”

I wish you could have seen how big their eyes were. I don’t know what rocked their world more- thinking of me as an eight year old or the idea of their teacher having a crush on a boy. Ew, a boy!

I then proceeded to tell them one of my childhood embarrassing moments in the hopes that someday, when it inevitably happens to them, they wouldn’t feel so bad. One morning, during our “big group” classroom meeting time, I sat on the floor directly in front of Jeremy and his friends. I was painfully aware of his presence behind me and overwhelmed by his wonderfulness. I guess the stress of it all must have gotten to me because….I….ahem…passed gas. And not quietly. Jeremy and his friends, as most mature eight year olds would, began laughing and waving their hands in front of their face. They then scooted back creating an arc of space behind me.

I’ve only recently gotten over the trauma. It’s amazing what a good therapist can do.

My students, of course, thought this was hysterical and a solid five minutes of laughter ensued. My humiliation shared to lessen theirs? I’m pretty sure that they don’t teach that kind of mentoring strategy in grad school.