Hey.
you.
Yes, you are wearing a cardigan.
Orthopedic shoes, strap with 10 keys, dry erase marks on forearm.
May I have two minutes of your time?
I know you’re busy. (Trust me, I know. I’ve seen sticky note reminders piling up on my desktop monitor, planners crammed to the brim, and only you on my phone. I’ve also seen various notes that don’t make sense, multiple calendars that you have between your phones (sometimes work and personal life are in sync, sometimes they’re not).
Please let me carry your bag. A huge binder under my armpit. Please also give me a lunch bag. And what you’re dragging behind you, who knows, is that spinning cart. Just let me have it all.
Don’t you think that’s better? How can I avoid carrying so much?
got it. I have something to say.
What you’re doing matters.
I’m not talking about your more obvious wins. It’s not just when the lesson goes perfectly, when you get great feedback, or when your child makes breakthrough progress. To be honest, there are very few of them anyway.
I’m not even talking about “beyond that.” The clubs you lead, the banners you paint, the early mornings and late nights, the sports you coach. Although those are important too.
What you do matters on a much smaller level.
It is in the most fleeting moments. A four-second encouraging phrase that your students will remember well into adulthood. A daily choice to offer, sometimes from a blank slate. The closet that stores feminine products and other hygiene products for students creaks. Hundreds of silent words of gratitude that will never be heard for them.
What you don’t do is equally important. That beat you take when a 6th grader says something awful instead of responding in kind. Lower grades so volleyball players can ride the bus. Every time we model patience, grace, and forgiveness, rather than a world just beyond the parking lot that operates on retribution, isolation, and a “me first” mentality.
I imagine each of those moments like a small brick. And together, we are building a better world, one small brick at a time.
oh. One more thing.
In case you forget…
you are important
Of course I don’t know about you.
But we also know that the dedication it takes to pursue a profession that we know is unprofitable and unworthy in our country can make a difference. And I know the courage and sacrifice to make that choice anyway.
When you tell people at parties or gatherings that you’re a teacher, you can expect them to say, “Sorry,” or “Summer vacation is so much fun!” or “I can’t do that. I don’t have enough patience” (as if patience were the only requirement for the job), or simply look at you with pity. And whether you’ve dreamed of becoming a teacher all your life or are just trying out for this job, smiling and nodding, rather than telling them how wrong they are, will give you the resolve you need. I know.
I know the tears I shed in the car, the desperation to hit the snooze alarm again, the hours I looked for other jobs on my lunch break, the thoughts I had and how it felt so true. I can’t do it anymore. And perhaps it was true. That’s also OK.
I sincerely respect the way you work hard every day. Whether it’s 40 days or 40 years.
You are not invisible.
Anyway. Thank you for letting me say it all. When it seems the most difficult, I also want you to know that there are actually many people out there who believe the same thing and would say the same thing given the opportunity.
I’m here whenever you need a pep talk.
