Sometimes a written format blows up, and we read it so many times we're totally fed up with it, but it works. Case in point: the open letter.
Here's the thing: it does work, and I have thoughts to share-- well, openly.
An Open Letter to My Students
Dear 2020 Remote Middle School Students;
You. Are. The. Reason. I. Do. This. Job.
I want to be especially sure this year, that you don't forget this. You see, this year, I cannot bring donuts to class or pass out candy. I cannot wave at you in the hall or make a lame joke if I see you in another teacher's class. I cannot hug you. This year, I am teaching in an entirely remote setting and the absolute best I can hope for is your emails and my visits with you in a Zoom call.
Today, a young lady apologized in advance for the fact that she would probably "annoy" me again soon with her emails-- maybe one day she'll read this and recognize herself, and I want her to know my reaction was genuine. I laughed and told her that she could not possibly annoy me, because the best part of my job is, and always has been, my students. That has never been more true than this year.
Yesterday was a weird one-- I happened not to have any meetings scheduled with students. I had a teachers' meeting in the morning, which was nice, and then my day was pretty much bland emails and editing essays until dinner time. I took a longer lunch break than I do most days. It was nice enough. But, damn, was it boring!
You want to know what kinds of virtual teaching days I've really loved? I've loved the ones where I'm chasing my tail to keep up with the grading and the emails, because huge swaths of my day are filled with student meetings. Some students are happy, some are miserable, some in groups and others one-on-one, but every single one is a human interaction that I crave and a connection I thrive on.
Teachers NEED students. Honestly, you'll be hard-pressed to meet a teacher who went into this field for a reason that wasn't some variant on "the kids." These young people breathe life into us, make us silly and animated, make us crazy and tired, and keep us going.
The hardest part of my remote teaching job is not that I'm saddled with a mediocre curriculum I'm polishing up in some way every time I turn around; it's not the long hours or the screen-glare headaches; it's not the fact that I type more emails in a day than I once did in any given month. The hardest part is that there are students whose faces I've never seen, students whose voices I've yet to hear, students I have scarcely if ever exchanged emails with. The hardest part of this is absolutely that my students are no longer a constant presence in my workspace and in my ears, on my whiteboards and at my desk. They're in my heart and my head as I work all day, but I want them at arm's length, and that's not how this role works.
The magic though? Don't you worry; there is always magic in teaching.
The magic is when a kid who was once afraid to come to you for help starts reading, pauses, and says, "Sorry, I'm eating a Starburst. I'm starving!" before she finishes the sentence.
The magic is when a parent emails to say, "my child has built such a connection with you."
The magic is seeing a student's collection of model planes before you jump into a quiz.
The magic is when a student emails to say "I just don't get it." and by the end of the day, they've met with you and explained to you exactly that thing they didn't get that morning.
The magic is the moment it "clicks."
The magic is the kid who could probably do the assignment alone, but just does *better* when you're with him.
The magic is a 100% on a tough test that you didn't need to help with, just read along.
The magic is a 6th-grader ending a meeting in a dinosaur mask.
The magic is a student who shares touching moments, funny stories, or important details about his or her life, hobbies, pets, and family, because you're not a stranger on the screen-- you're the teacher.
So, to my dear and beloved students, "bug" me with that email, ask me that question, schedule the meeting, tell the joke, share and share and share with me. You are the reason I pursued this career. You are the reason I do this job. You are the bright spot in my day. You are the success story I tell myself before bed. You are brilliant and talented and hilarious. You are a delight.
I. Am. Glad. To. Have. You. Here. With. Me.
Sincerely,
Miss Mosier
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