y mother , Araceli Sedanto Zafra, was a public-school teacher. She may have gone into labor right in the classroom; she certainly referred to her students as her children. This did not sit well with me. As a highly anticipated only child, I did not like the idea of having several dozen siblings. My sister was considerate enough to let me have 12 years as the only child, arriving just in time to relieve me of my parents’ unremitting attention so I could have my adolescence in relative peace. So teaching was the first profession I was ever aware of. It seemed to me a noble calling. Having been raised by a teacher I always had an affinity to teachers, seeing them as extensions of my mother. This may have accounted for my being considered “a good student” in grade school (high school was an entirely different story). No doubt some of my classmates abhorred me
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