Being a teacher comes with certain perks. Among the best of them are the relationships you build with your students. Getting to know those little humans in progress can be a real blessing.

Sure, some of them behave like crazed monkeys recently escaped from the zoo, but for the most part, it’s a positive experience.

Sometimes I miss those classroom interactions… sometimes.

Every now and then, students will bring their teacher a gift. The younger ones bring drawings, homemade trinkets, and yes, the occasional apple. I once got homemade carne asada burritos. Yum.

The older ones don’t do this as often, but some do. They’ll tell you they’re going on vacation and promise, “I’ll bring you something back.” Most forget. Some probably never meant it in the first place. But every once in a while, a kid actually follows through.

Occasionally they’ll ask, “What do you like?”

My answer was always the same.

“You don’t need to get me anything. Just enjoy your trip.”

And then I would add, almost as an afterthought:

“But if you do bring me something… don’t buy me anything. Just bring me back a rock. Or maybe an interesting leaf.”

The looks I got were priceless.

Confusion first. Then curiosity. And inevitably someone would ask the obvious question:

“Why a rock?”

The answer was simple.

Because a rock means you thought of me while you were there. Not at the airport gift shop on the last day of the trip, when you suddenly remembered your teacher existed. A rock means you saw something on the ground, picked it up, and decided it was worth carrying home.

It means that for a brief moment, somewhere far away, in the middle of your adventure, you paused… and remembered your teacher.

Many of my colleagues received coffee mugs, keychains, t-shirts, shot glasses, and a whole assortment of other trinkets. All good gifts, for sure. I wouldn’t complain. I’ve received those too.

But I venture to say I might be the only educator who has a box full of interesting objects that were never purchased in any gift shop.

I have rocks picked up from a path somewhere, from a tropical beach, from a barrio deep in Mexico. My favorite is a volcanic rock from one of the Hawaiian Islands, worn smooth and shaped by time.

I’ve received old coins found in far-off places. Once, a student gifted me a cannabis leaf—yes, an actual cannabis leaf—carefully preserved between two strips of clear packing tape… because it was “interesting.” Between us, only the memory of that one remains—and it was indeed an interesting story.

I cherish these gifts… these “worthless rocks,” as one student once so eloquently put it.

When someone asks why I’ve kept them all these years, my answer is simple.

Because each one came with a conversation—one that might never have taken place otherwise. Each one carried a story, one that meant a great deal to that little human who brought it to me.

And with that story came something more: a connection. A small bond of trust. Proof that what I did mattered to them, and that their story mattered to me.

Every now and then I’ll open that old box and pick one up. A small rock from a beach somewhere, a coin from a far-off place, a leaf pressed flat by time.

And just like that, the story comes back.

The best part? Sometimes those little humans come back to visit—fully grown now, with bigger stories to tell. We get to talking, and I’ll pull out that weird rock or leaf. The look in their eyes when they remember picking it up…

That’s priceless.

I once gifted the rock back to a student after she graduated college. I included a little note, reminding her that it wasn’t so much about reaching her destination, but more importantly, it was about her journey to get there. And much like that rock, she was shaped by it—by time and life’s experiences.

And now she too had a story.

Me? I got the first one that doesn’t ever go away. I got the satisfaction that comes knowing I impacted a life in a positive way.

And if you ask me… that’s a pretty good gift.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.