There once was a school. A small, red brick school. With two floors and many, many stories. It was on the top of a hill in a cold rainy town very far away. It was a happy school. Sometimes it would wonder what it would be like to be a house, and keep a family safe and warm; or it would wonder what it would be like to be a fire station, and to be awakened at all times of the day and night by alarms and sirens and comings and goings and the firemen sliding down the poles and pulling on their boots and all that. But all in all, it was very content to be a school. Especially during the fall, when crisp crunchy frost ornamented the autumn gold leaves, and the bells rang and called the children back from summer vacation, and once again the school’s halls and classrooms and playground would be filled with laughter and happy shouts and the sound of quick footsteps until the teachers would command sternly: “Michael!”Or “Victor!”or “Carrie! Slow down this instant.” And the children would gallop to a stand still, with smiles on their faces, hearts beating. Yes, it was a happy school. And, if the truth be told, it was a proud school. Because even though it wasn’t a big school –only maybe 12 classrooms total and a few portables out in the fenced yard, the little brick school on the hill knew that the kids that came through its doors, and walked the walls, and sat through lessons and stories and tests and all the things that kids do at school were good. Good kindergarteners walking to school with their moms, backpacks as big as them. Good first graders. Good second graders. Good third graders. And fourth graders? Still good. The little school knew you don’t have to be big to be good. And you didn’t have to be big to have big dreams. The school liked being a school. Because a school is a very special place. A magical place with a spirit all its own. A place unlike any other kind of just regular buildings on earth. Because when you’re school, a little bit of you leaves with every student that grows and learns and goes on and out into this wonderful wide world. And so a tiny bit of that little brick school on the hill in the drippy gray green town far to the north had been to Italy, and seen the ruins of ancient Rome, stoop in the middle of the Coliseum, been to the little church where Da Vinci had painted his Last Supper. Been to the Tower of London, and seen armor and castles and dungeons. A little piece of that school had been to very tip of South Africa, and climbed Table Mountain and felt the winds from two oceans in its face. A little bit of this school had sailed the Atlantic and the Pacific and the North Sea. Had been to Alaska to see mosquitoes as big as spiders and slugs as big as a banana. Spoken with race car drivers and movie directors and played music with rock stars and meditated with wise men called Swamis from India. Fallen in love. Driven the high plains of Wyoming in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark. Climbed mountains and looked down into the gaping crater of a volcano. Seen Redwood trees so tall that they tickled the blue sky till it seemed to laugh with joy. It even once got to scratch a rhinoceros back, and watch an elephant pick up a watermelon in it's trunk, and crunch it whole, with watermelon juice squirting all over it's happy elephant face. So even in the case of one boy that had gone to the little red brick school, the school had been a part of a thousand adventures. For you see, the little school lived inside all it’s students for all time and went with them out into the world. And looked out and saw the beauty of life through their eyes. And heard the music of life with their ears. And walked with their feet and helped them think their big thoughts with their growing curious minds. And a little bit of that school went with a certain boy as he grew and grew until he was a man and had children of his own. And one day he walked into another school. On top of a hill. Where the rain rarely dripped and sun mostly shined and the ocean wind blew cool on even the hottest days. And the kids played handball and dodgeball and played on the swings and they even learned math and science and how to read and write in their spare time. Another good school filled with big dreams. Where kindergarteners and first graders and second graders and third graders and fourth graders and fifth graders got ready to go have their adventures. In the big beautiful world. Where someday everywhere they went they would always carry their school with them. Which was different than the little brick red school but a lot like it all the same, don’t you think? A very good place to start writing your own stories.