I’m a teacher — an elementary school teacher.
I don’t need to spend time getting you up to date on what happened in my classroom a couple of weeks ago. I don’t need to tell you because it happened to your kids, too. It happened to every kid in America and millions around the globe.
This sudden send-off was not something that I ever dreamed would happen. One morning, I went to school to teach my students about fractions and isolating variables, and instead ended up telling them that they were going home for weeks, months, and maybe for the rest of the year.
It felt sudden and surreal and jarring, but I tried to not let that show to my students. I tried to be calming and upbeat and optimistic and nurturing. I did the best I could with the sudden goodbye, but I sit at home wishing I could talk to my students now — wishing I could say all the things that I didn’t get the chance to tell them on what was possibly the last day of school.
To my class,
In normal times, when we are going to be apart for an extended break or even the end of the year, we know it's coming. We prepare, we feel excited, we’re ready to start missing each other. But this? This was not like that.
When I walked you to the bus on that unexpected last day of school, I fought back tears and pasted on a brave smile while ignoring what would soon be known as social distancing so I could hug each one of you tightly. You see, you are not just my students, and each one of you is more than a mere classmate. We are a family.
It’s been a few weeks already and now your parents are trying their best to teach you at home. Go easy on them. They signed up to be your parents, not your teacher and, just between you and me, the Common Core can be really confusing — even to someone like me. They’re doing the best they can. You’re not always such a walk in the park to teach, either.
Give your parents a break
Honestly, while I want you to read and practice your math facts and use all the “resources” that the district has been sending out to you, I care a whole lot more that you are safe and loved and maybe getting some rare time to be close with your family.
I know that some of you are having a blast at home with your parents. You’re playing games with your siblings and FaceTiming your friends and, undoubtedly, watching far too much TV. You might be bored sometimes, but you’re safe and loved.
And some of you aren’t
For some of you school was the place where you got your daily meals and reassurance and hugs. We were the safest, most reliable part of your life, and now we’re gone.
I think of each of you as one of my kids. Just like with my own biological children, it is my job to protect you and make you feel safe.
I take this part of my job seriously. More seriously, even, than the long division and proper pronouns (though I know that is hard to believe). That’s why sending you off into this unknown, uncertain world felt wrong in every part of my being.
I hope, even though I’m not supposed to say it, that somehow you know I pray for you every single day.
I hope you know that I miss your sweet faces and your messy handwriting
I miss the sparkle in your eyes when you finally get how to convert fractions and how you all gather around my rocking chair and lay on the floor amidst pillows and friends and listen to me read aloud.
Please know that, one day, life will get back to normal. We’ll, once again, live in a world where we can hug and high-five and where the biggest problem in your day is who got who out in a game of Four Square.
Until then, know that you have a teacher who loves you.
