I remembered a time when I sat in class, observing those foals that I believed were angels.
I remembered a time when I could identify those strategies and believe that those that were negative were not usable whatsoever, while those positive evoking responses were always positive and never in the slightest were they wrong.
I remembered a time when I could think of a time.
I believed that the love that teachers give to their teachings would spread to those who listened to them and gobbled them up, bite by bite.
I believed that when the concrete understanding of content meant more than the social development of said foal and connecting with all those who are in the crowd of students who wish to learn from the expert.
I believed…
...I believe that time flies.
I stand in front of the board, drawing up diagrams and visuals instead of organized words.
“Class, you need to know this to pass,” I explained, moving to and fro the board while pointing at each illustration with my free hoof.
I stand next to a well-renowned bully, who glares daggers at me whenever I point at her paper. It's a struggle with her, but I will not be defied by my students. In a stern tone of voice, I address her with defiance,
“Diamond Tiara, if you want to pass this class, then you must control yourself.”
I stand next to Scootaloo, a small pegasus who drags herself lower and lower whenever she is at the playground.
“Scootaloo,” I call. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
The class showers her in oh’s and other immature phrases as he approaches me, her bright red blush showing on her cheeks. She looks up at me and nods.
“What do you need, Miss Cheerilee?”
I stand next to Scootaloo, a strong pony who questions her own self-esteem.
“I would like you to know that I have asked for a certain someone to give you… lessons.”
I stand next to Scootaloo, her eyes glistening as she wraps me in a hug. A few tears rapidly escape her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
I stand next to Scootaloo, a motivated mare who knows her goals.
“Welcome to the Wonderbolts, Miss Scootaloo.”
I stand next to Scootaloo, a renowned flyer, a strong mare, and a well-matured pony who loves to bring entertainment not only to the sky…
“Miss Cheerilee?”
I walk over to the stallion, his thick drawl surprising me.
“Yes?”
I feel a strong force impact my face.
A loud scream enters my ears.
A sudden shadow looms over me.
It pulls me to the ground.
A giant hoof returns fire.
A loud smack.
A loud crash.
A shot of pain racks through me.
A random thought enters my brain.
The stinging pressure hits me again.
I blackout.
I wake up.
I wish I didn’t.
I lay beside a standing Scootaloo, her tears cascading down her bright, young face.
“Miss Cheerilee, w-why did he hit you?”
I lay beside a standing Scootaloo, a mare whose obliviousness could write novels.
“Miss Cheerilee, why did he punch you twice?”
I lay beside a fragile, shaking Scootaloo, her solid stance now fading as she begins her upset behavior, one that I remember quite well.
“Miss Cheerilee, why did I not see him coming?”
I lay beside a broken mare, her eyes full of nothingness; despair.
“Miss Cheerilee, why am I not there for you when you were always there for me?”
I lay beside a thoughtful Scootaloo; a caring, kind, gentle spirit who flies to entertain the right.
“Miss Cheerilee, why am I not there when you need me the most?”
I lay beside a young, yet full-grown Scootaloo, her eyes shimmering as another piece of herself slides down and empties on the floor.
“Miss… I wish I was like you: strong, compassionate, always thinking of others before yourself…”
I lay beside the wise, young Scootaloo, who finally learnt the lesson I have tried to give all my students for the past few decades…
“Miss Cheerilee, please, please forgive me for being weak…”
Forgiveness is given to those who think they are weak, Scootaloo, is what I would say. My cheerful tone would bring wonders to her face.
“Miss Cheerilee, if you will ever see another race with me…”
Racing for what you find is not what you may truly discover in the end, Scootaloo, is what I would say. I would hope to see your face light up, but I knew you would tilt your head slightly to the left in confusion.
“Miss Cheerilee, I wish you could see me…”
Seeing can blind us sometimes.
“Miss Cheerilee, I will always miss your lectures.”
I hear the clip-clopping of hooves exit the room.
I hear a loud shrill scream shatter the illusion of safety.
I hear a desperate cry for help from down the hall.
I feel another piece of me imprint itself on that bed.
I feel my body floating in space and time.
I feel myself flying without wings.
I feel…
“Miss Cheerilee!”
I stand next to Scootaloo, her young wings fluttering, dancing; a small blue and gold uniform with a lightning bolt adorning her body.
I smile, an excited student is always the one I love to teach.
“Yes, Scootaloo?”
She smiles back, her eyes shimmering in the daylight.
“Can we… have Rainbow Dash come to class tomorrow?”
I could think of so many reasons as to why she could, yet should I even consider those negatives that are so few?
Should I even appreciate them for their existence in the world?
Should I send them to the deep recesses of my mind so that I would never them again?
With so much thought and so many decisions to make, I have to say: there are so many more important things to decide on then seeing the negatives of something that is necessary for learning to commence.
“Of course she can.”
With that, I stand next to a young Scootaloo, her wings fluttering, eyes glancing at the sky, tears cascading down her cheeks, and a nice big rainbow blur bringing beauty to the blues that paint the sky.
I bring her close, wrapping a hoof around her as she nuzzles my leg.
Despite what I believe, I think I know that knowing your student is much more important.
Truth be told, I think she’ll be able to make the Wonderbolts.
Because time flies and I know that Scootaloo will make the most of it.
