Two years of my daughter's life.

Four semesters.

Four hundred and fifty-one hours of second-job labor.

One thousand, seven hundred and fifty-five pages of grading.

Five hundred and eighty-five rubrics filed and recorded.

Sixty grades given or in progress.

Five episodes of classroom narcolepsy.

Two guest speakers, one video, one shot boyfriend, one fiance in a hospital, five children in a hospital, two unexpected pregnancies, one suicide attempt, one dead dog and one torched house.

Twenty dropped students.

Tonight, one of my students said he wanted to be a writer.

Success.