Other people's children

I am of the age when many people my age (or younger) are producing offspring, and the news of so-and-so having their second or third child, their first entering pre-school, etc. often reaches me via the familial grapevine. This in turn reminds me of encounters with both strangers and acquaintances where, upon some remark of mine regarding children, I am asked one of the inevitable questions:"How old are your kids/do you have kids in school/do you have children?"
Well, in a manner of speaking, yes; about 350 from the ages of 5 to 11. I see them each once a week, some of them more often.The thing about being a teacher of a specialist subject, is that I see all of these kids growing up year by year, I see personalities emerge, talents develop, and yes, the behaviors that will ultimately shape their lives along with their experiences. I can't deny that there are some kids whom I can connect with more easily, and some whom I despair of ever decoding. There are the ones who frustrate me, the ones whose hugs keep me going through the harder days, the pictures I get to hang above my desk, and the budding musical art that I get to bring to life with young choristers. Before adolescence shakes up their lives, I have a chance to share something hopefully meaningful with them.
Some students I see outside of school at church, the grocery store, or a restaurant, where I can step outside my role as teacher and be more of my real self. However, these encounters remind that, even when the pressure of responsibility for the progress and learning of my students is immediately present, I ought to still be the caring human being who places more importance on connection and guidance than on force-feeding content. When I occasionally raise my voice, I am then ashamed for letting frustration override the calm control. These children are a mix of the haves and have-nots, they come to me from all sorts of families, some having had opportunities, enriching experiences, discipline, love, and connectedness, others not. Can I welcome them all, give them something that they may remember or they may forget, but give to them with open hands nonetheless?
These are my children. Yet, the hugs, the needs for bandaids, the tears, the songs, the silliness...none of them come home with me at the end of the day.
I certainly value the independence, times of solitude, and other freedoms I have as a single person; I have an identity that is not yet associated with others I have brought into the world. However, I think that because of this time of helping someone else's children grow, I will be that much happier to have my own, and a house whose peace and silence is valued less than the noisy goings-on of people sharing life within.
"Do you have kids?"
"No...I do not.
But for now, I do have other people's children."