Every August, I stand at my classroom door and greet twenty-some small strangers as they become my kindergarten class. They arrive in new sneakers with backpacks too big for their shoulders, clutching the hands of parents who sneakily wipe away tears. Some of these children have fallen asleep to bedtime stories every night of their lives. Others may have never held a book at all. And yet, here in my bright classroom with its rainbow rug and jar of newly sharpened pencils, all of them are about to begin the same remarkable journey: learning that the strange little marks on a page can hold stories, ideas and possibilities.