She sat in the middle of the third row back. I was visiting the class for an observation assignment. A substitute teacher was filling in that day and half the class was turned around in their seats chatting with friends, the other half slouched low in their chairs, staring down at forbidden cell phones in their laps. They weren’t fooling me. It’s not hard to notice the flickering glow from the screens reflecting off their oily adolescent faces.  The noise level in the room was annoying, so I hunkered in my seat, arms folded across my chest, to watch the show. I wouldn’t get any work done anyway. It would…

Well into her 80s, Oma shuffled along with her cane everywhere she went. Tap, tap, tap. Everyone heard Oma coming before they saw her. She always carried peppermint candies in the pockets of her cardigan, handing them out to the children at church, in her neighborhood, at the corner grocery store she faithfully visited twice a week — wherever little people crossed her path. She’d reach down to pat their tousled hair and patiently admire their artwork or an interesting rock they’d found in the dirt. It was her custom to walk to the park on Saturday mornings and feed the pigeons. Not because she particularly liked birds, but simply…