I dreamed I stood in a studio and watched two sculptors there. The clay they used was a young child's mind and they fashioned it with care. One was a teacher, the tools she used were books and music and art. One a parent with a guiding hand and gentle, loving heart. Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch that was deft and sure. With the parent labored by his side and polished and smoothed it over. And when at last their task was done, they proud what they had wrought. For the things they had molded into the child could neither be sold or bought. And each agreed he would have failed if he had worked alone. For behind the parent stood the school and behind the teacher, the home.

-Author Unknown

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