Memories from a Creative Writing Class

While cleaning, I came across a tattered pink pocket folder filled with assignments written by my teenage self.  The assigments are from a high school Creative Writing class with Mrs. Phyllis Gillin (a tough but fair instructor).
The assignment is a story, "Jenny's Whistle".  The story of a young four year old spending the day with her grandfather in her grandmother's garden.  The grandfather whittles the young child a willow whistle.  I recall my teenage self asking my grandfather to take me through the steps for making a willow whistle.
My story reminds me of the taste of the whistle.   " The wood felt smooth in her hand....   Grandpa tapped the willow whistle surface with the handle of his pocket knife... Grandpa  slipped the bark handing the round inch long bark to the child/ teenager.   ...the underlieing wood was a blondish green.  Grandpa cut a V-shaped chip.   Then took the bark ring back from the child/ teenager and slipped it back on over the wood whistle.   She put the smooth whistle in her mouth, it had a spicy, green taste that matched its spicy green scent."
In the margin Mrs. Gillins has written the note "great".  My adult self is pleased with this notation as I am sure my teenage self was.
At the end,  Mrs.  Gillins writes "This is the best writing you've done. Your grandparents are a rich source for your essay, too."  I don't recall if I used my grandparent as a source for my essay, but they were a strong influence on my childhood.  They were my and my bother' s and sister's caregivers while we were growing up.
In the story the child " kisses his clean shaven face, that smelled of his signature aftershave."   My teenage self describes "Grandpa was sitting on the front steps dressed in his gray work clothes.  His funny, old gray hat covers his shiny white hair, and his worn wooden cane lays close by his right hand.  In all her four years of life, Jenny had never seen him walk without it."
Later "Grandpa slowly gets off the steps and offers his hand to Jenny.  She puts her hand into his large gnarled one, which completely covers her small one.  She slows her pace to his."
My present self through these written descriptions is reminded of his love, making a me a little sad, but joyful that I was loved by him.