A place, a home – funny to even call it that,
And yet, at the time, it was – somewhere constant.
But we have to leave the home sometimes,
Making the very thought of home fluid.
And mine was being built on this foundation.
Language arts in one classroom,
Mathematics in the other.
Looking back through a different lens,
I see the irony – a battle waged between the left and right hemisphere.
Where one is subjective, the other is equally and oppositely objective.
Words, words, words – narration to the coming generations.
Carry the one, divide the three, subtract the seven, divide the eight –
Patterns, patterns molded and proven, patterns definite and consistent.
One thing I know: the teachers both exclaimed I was a good student.
The thing I don’t know: which half will win out if the balance is tipped?