This novel was the first my boyfriend ever gave to me. We had been dating for 2 weeks when his family invited me down to celebrate Christmas with them. As a Jew, I had not celebrated Christmas before, and I was nervous about that cultural difference, as well as what to get everyone, these strangers I had not yet met, and what they would think of me, this vegetarian, anemic, sailor-mouthed girl so unlike their son whose main aspiration in life was to teach kindergarten (whereas he was studying to be an engineer at the time, and thus, I suppose, his future was considered more secure and profitable). I felt incredibly self-conscious that week. I wore my best clothing. I blushed with shame when I realized his mother cooked a different casserole for me because I couldn't eat the sausage in it. I went to church with them and listened to an entire congregation sing songs I did not know, and light handheld candles in the silent night. I had bought gag gifts, much like my family does for Hannukah, because I genuinely believed that was what one did for Christmas, too. Imagine my mortification when my boyfriend places two beautiful dendrobium orchids in my hands, a book, a card, and a shoebox full of mementos and pictures, and all I had for him was a mixtape of cheesy 80s songs and a Viking hat I had purchased from a toy store? (To be fair, he had long blonde hair and a beard at the time, and was constantly being mistaken for Jesus and Thor, so I thought the gift was at least apt). I remember holding my breath, touched by the kindness and hospitality of his family and by my own misunderstanding. I couldn't wait to slink back into my bedroom in despair. As soon as it was socially permissible, I made some sort of excuse and hightailed it out of there. I opened the book, which I had been too embarrassed to read in front of everyone, and read the inscription he had mentioned. On the front page, he thanked me for being brave enough to meet his family on short notice, and then he put the words I will never forget. "I know you will be an amazing teacher." It does sound terribly Hallmark channel, I know, but at the time, I was a young college student and it seemed everyone, friends, professors, even members of my own family were utterly against it and called it a "waste" of my potential. He signed it with love, and that, also, was earth-shaking - the first time a boy loved me back. I remember holding the book pressed to my heart, and then flipping past the first page to the meat of it. I read the book Christmas night, unable to sleep. I understood the shoebox he gave me was his version of a Gummy Lump, as described in the book. There are lovely tidbits, too, such as how teachers are like time-capsules with the way they come up with crafts, themed bulletin boards, and activities for each holiday. When I got my first teaching job after graduation, I read the book again for courage and inspiration. There have been other Christmases, and other Gummy Lumps, and other Fulghum's on our shelf (I believe my boyfriend is currently reading "Uh-Oh"), but this remains the most beloved. It is the book that made me realize that some people - perfectly respectable, successful people - believed in and appreciated teachers. It is the book that helped me believe in myself.