Every single time I drive to or from our new home on Bertinetti Lake, I think about how odd it is that I don’t feel out of place here. I don’t know why I haven’t broken down and boo hoo cried, homesick for the home we had for 19 years, or the town I lived in for 50 years. I never thought I’d teach again when I left Crestwood. As new and strange and odd as this should all seem, I feel content, and at home. I call my dad every day, sometimes more than once. I miss people, of course. I literally have no friends here. I’m closest to the retired prison warden who is in charge of the kids in detention. I don’t feel alone though. I jumped right into my teaching job, like I never left, like I’ve always been a Tornado. My classroom is a happy, comfortable place. I’m talking and listening non-stop, everyday. The kids like to hang around and visit. They have allowed me to easily build a rapport with them, like I’ve been here a long time. There are some tough stories here like many towns. The situations these kids are dealing with never cease to surprise me. I don’t know how some of them get up and are able to face each day. But here we are, and most days, I leave school feeling happy, like I made a difference by making someone feel like he or she mattered. The talk has spread around the district that I’m good for the kids. I try to be, and it comes very easily, but is it really the other way around?