This week I began teaching the sweetest seven-year-old in the world. (Yeah yeah, thanks, Justin.) She knew the English alphabet (well, she has trouble with g/j, a/i, and u/y) and a handful of English words before our first class, on Wednesday, and now she can say, “My name is Monica,” “Today is Thursday, November 18,” and “See you tomorrow.” That’s all my doing.

Both times we’ve had class, as I’ve approached her building I’ve seen her standing in her apartment window, literally jumping up and down as I approached. Today, since she recognized me, she waved out the window until I waved back.

She also made me a pencilholder out of cardboard. And she gave me a letter:

PETER:

Gracias por ser mi profe de ingles yo me dibierto en tu clace esprero que me sigas enseñando ingles.

Te escribo esta pequeña carta porque me facino la clace con cariño.

Monica.

The “M” in Monica is a heart.

If her parents like me enough to keep me teaching her until February, I guess I’ll have a valentine–er, two.