I just took off my nametag for the last time. Unwound its black cotton strap, and lifted off from around my neck the laminated slip of paper making me official here on the farm. Kids won’t have to know my name anymore. Pastors, teachers, parents and scout leaders won’t ask for me, ask of me, or commend me. Of course, it was my final school group this morning that gave me more frustration than any other. Perhaps it was their late arrival, the head teacher’s uppity attitude, the kids’ lack of manners, or the fact that we had to squeeze 3.5 hours of scheduled explorations into 1.5 hours of slightly jumbled explanations. After rotating three groups through the “barnyard” area (scratching goats, feeding Abu, gawking at turkeys and petting angora rabbits) I sat down with this
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