Imagine

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He was a goofy 9th-grade boy. By the time he graduated, he had become a man.

At a funeral a couple of years ago, the boy who usually wore cargo shorts, T-shirts and flip-flops dressed in a beautiful wool suit. He escorted one of my Yearbook editors to the service. He sat behind me in the church and when I started to cry, he put his right hand on my left shoulder.

He's at college now. His little sister is one of my journalistas this year. They visited New York City last weekend, and they thought of me.

In a tchotchke shop downtown, the brother and the sister saw some John Lennon paraphernalia, on display in advance of the 30th anniversary of the great man's death.

"Mrs. Scribe would love this," the young man said to his sister. He remembered my passion for all things Beatles.

They purchased this magnet, which features a small, snow-globe-type glass over a photo of Lennon. In his well-known and much-copied New York City T-shirt.

The young man's sister gave me a small box tied with a pretty bow after class yesterday. She told me her brother had remembered the good times, and wanted to give me a special gift. The magnet is now affixed to the blackboard behind my desk, a space reserved for special memories. If you look really hard, you can see the reflection of Room 215 in the curved glass.

Imagine.