I teach first grade. When I tell people that, I usually get two reactions. It's either "awww," as in "how cute" or, "oh," as in, "Are you crazy to stay in a room with 6-year-olds all day?"

I don't think I am crazy. I just like first grade. It's not easy to teach first grade. I suppose it's not easy to teach any grade. In fact, the older I get the more I realize that knowing what to do is the one thing that does get a little easier, but doing it? That definitely gets harder. My back hurts, my legs ache. I find myself sitting down a little bit more at the end of the day.

I'm 43. That's not ancient, but I sometimes wonder if a younger person would have a little more stamina than I do at times. I imagine the trade-off is that I've got a little wisdom and experience on my side to balance things out. I think it's a fair trade, although I would like fewer aches.

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Through the years I've been blessed to have good mentors. I have heartfelt respect for the teaching veterans who went before me. They paved the way on little pay and few benefits.

This past year I put year 20 in the bag. I am surprised at how pleased I am with myself for those 20 years. I did not think it would be a big deal, but it is. I can proudly call myself a veteran teacher now.

When I attended a retirement luncheon for a colleague at the beginning of summer, I was reminded of just how much education has changed in the past few decades. She attended a one-room schoolhouse when she began her education. The bathrooms were outside. By the end of her career, she used a laptop every day. That's quite a span, but also quite a history to be proud of.

My friend finished her teaching career, but I've still got some time to go. I'm not ready to leave teaching, or first grade. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but it took me 20 years and a conversation with a parent on a bus on the way to the Children's Museum to finally figure out why I stay in first grade.

I like it because the children change so much in one school year. All of their little light bulbs go on all year long. I know they change in other grades, too, but something about first grade is different for me.

I see many of them learn to read. The same sign they walk by day in and day out in the hallway suddenly makes sense to them one day. The clock that hung on the wall all year now tells time. They don't just see money as shiny little coins, but they can count it and use it. They learn better how to be a part of a larger group. By the end of the year, they don't need me as much, and that's a good thing.

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Teaching is a profession of extremes. Like Parker J. Palmer in his book "The Courage to Teach," I find "moments in the classroom when I can hardly hold the joy." At other times, I echo his sentiments that I will "never master this baffling vocation." Maybe the challenge as you keep going is not to beat yourself up for the down times and to keep showing up, knowing that the joyous moments remain.

This past week, my latest group of first graders walked through my classroom door. The first month is the hardest. I'll say the same thing over and over and over. I'll long for my late wake-up days of summer. I'll wonder if the children will ever catch on to the new routines. I will be needed constantly. There will be moments of incredible wonder and moments of frustration, but it's the transformation -- theirs and mine -- that will be the take-away.