Thank you for everything! You’re the best!! I know I never was a perfect student! But if we had never had our troubles or phone calls home, then I would have never grown this year! But any who, I still love you! No matter what!
Overwhelmed by the nine short days until the STAAR test, I was crying in the hallway this morning. Inside my head, I heard the all-too-familiar chorus of accusatory voices.
“You haven’t done enough to prepare your students for this test.”
“They won’t pass, and it’s all your fault.”
“You can’t even get them to stay in their seats and stop shouting out in the middle of a lesson; how could you have imagined that they would be reading on grade level by April 22?”
Unexpectedly, I heard your voice cut through the clutter in my mind.
“Ms. Jackson, you ok? Why are you crying?”
I couldn’t begin to explain what I had hoped to accomplish in nine short months. How I repeatedly failed you and your classmates every time I delivered lessons that weren’t rigorous enough or relevant or interesting or even properly copied because I was too tired to make sure the pages stapled in the right order.
“Just allergies, Karah. My eyes are watering a little, but I’m fine.”
“Oh, ok… Are you allergic to bad behavior, Miss? Cuz I’m pretty done with the way they been treating you in 3rd period.”
In that moment, the angry mob in my head stopped to listen to you. I had to ask myself what I originally set out to do when I signed up to teach.
I wanted to foster genuine, transformative relationships with students who have so often been overlooked. I wanted my students to learn how to read, for goodness’ sake, and we still have a long way to go there, yes, but the STAAR test is just one measure. This exam is only a sliver of what a you and your classmates have learned in a year.
What about empathy, respect, and compassion? What about a true love of reading? The grit and tenacity that unfurls as you put your pencil to the scantron one more time, even if we both know your score is likely going to be lower than average.
I smiled and looked down at you, wiping away the last stubborn tear.
“Yes, the doctor says I’m allergic to bad behavior, and the STAAR test.”
Your eyes widened as you shook your head and giggled.
“You funny, Ms. Jackson. I hope you move up and teach us in 7th grade next year.”
The truth is, you deserve more than a teacher who is funny and fun. With the STAAR test looming, I have to confront the brutal facts that I was not a strong enough teacher to lead you, academically, to the place you deserve to be at this point in the year.
We didn’t make up the years of reading growth that needed to happen, but you did improve, academically and as a woman of character and integrity. Perhaps there is hope yet for the remaining weeks. I’m not giving up on teaching the TEKS you need to know for 7th grade or modeling character qualities that will carry you through your adolescent years, like kindness and courage.
We have much to learn and very little time. You with me?
All my love,
I’m tired. The STAAR test is 54 days away, and it’s already haunting my waking and sleeping hours.
This morning, I decided to treat myself to Starbucks. I set my alarm 15 minutes earlier than usual, hurried myself along as I got ready, and dashed through the drive through. I couldn’t have been more excited. A chilly morning, a long week ahead, but I had my favorite drink in hand.
Setting up my classroom, I placed my keys, coffee and computer on the projector cart. Opening my laptop to log in, I tilted the screen directly into my three-quarters-still-full, steaming hot caramel macchiato.
As the coffee crashed to the floor, dangerously close to all the cords and wires on the projector cart, I stared in disbelief.
It was small, silly and stupid, but I felt totally defeated. Perhaps not unlike you are feeling right now.
I know how hard you’ve been trying to get your attitude together and apply yourself in class. I’ve seen you make an earnest effort to be your best.
But today, in the cafeteria, a minor slip. You were talking to Lincoln when you were supposed to be walking in silently. When Mr. Bain corrected you, I’m guessing it felt like your coffee had hit the floor. The extra effort, the promise of a good day, splat. Ruined.
I have to admit, your reaction was better than mine. I stood in my classroom and fought off a ridiculous urge to cry over spilled coffee. You walked calmly over to your assigned seat, stretched out across the bench, closed your eyes and said:
“Holy Spirit, take me.”
I wanted to join you with a hearty “amen, to that!”
The STAAR test is 54 days away. We can persevere. We will continue to put in the extra effort, get up a little earlier, work a little harder and keep the faith.
Don’t be discouraged or lose heart.
All my love,
Pie Day Friday is just around the corner! We need your brilliant brain and spunky spirit to win this competition. We can’t LOSE to 119 pesky 5th graders. They’d never let us hear the end of it…
We’ve prepared. We’ve trained. We’ve studied rhyme schemes and alliteration, personification and, of course, our favorite, hyperbole.
“Miss, I have a paper cut on my pinkie! I think I’m gonna DIEEEEEE!”
If we could channel the same angst that causes you to walk into my classroom every day and turn your desk away from the board, facing the wall, we could bring up our average to 80% or higher on the poetry unit exam.
Let’s take a look at the current standings.
The test on Friday is winner-take-all. The grade level that has the higher average gets to pie a teacher in the face. If 5th grade wins, I’m going to have a whip cream facial in front of the whole school!
We are so close to winning the poetry unit competition, but we need every student committed to this, or we won’t reach our goal. You with me?
All my love,
Day after day, you set a positive example for your peers. I watch you tirelessly follow the rules, typically with a smile on your face.
But, ultimately, we’re all human. We all make choices, and occasionally, mistakes.
I have two younger sisters. We’ve always been the best of friends, but there have been moments when we haven’t exactly seen eye-to-eye.
When I was in first grade, my sister Lauren was in kindergarten. She was learning to spell her name, and I was learning to tie my shoes. Life was pretty simple back then. One day, we got into a petty argument over one of my Barbie dolls.
Ten minutes later, stewing in time-out, I eyed the wooden coffee table in arm’s reach. My mind reeled with the injustice of the situation. It was my doll. My right to play with her whenever I wanted to. Why was I sitting in timeout?
I picked up a pen, leaned over the coffee table and slowly, methodically, began carving…
This morning, when you walked into school, you had a decision to make.
Leave the iPhone in your pocket? Or follow school policy and turn it in at the front desk?
Were you simply tired of doing the right thing, making a purposeful choice to keep the phone with you? Or was it an accident? Did you honestly forget that you still had it?
My mom’s gasp reverberated throughout the house.
“Lauren Merrill Jackson, come here immediately.”
Unsuspecting, cheerful Lauren skipped into the living room. Six letters carved with kindergarten-esque penmanship marred the coffee table.
A shrill, clipped noise jarred my otherwise silent classroom. Students erupted into chaos.
“A phone, miss!”
“Somebody tryin’ to cheat!”
I let it go on too long: Lauren’s insistence that she did not carve her own name into the table and my mom’s bewildered investigation.
Sitting in my room, playing with the coveted Barbie doll, I felt prideful, even elated, that I had found the most clever way to get back at my sister for attempting to steal my toy, my fun.
I heard Lauren start to sniffle, as she promised over and over that she didn’t commit this outrageous deed.
Something inside my cold, dark heart began to melt.
Am I the kind of person who does something like this? I wondered aloud to the plastic, too perfect, 12-inch friend in my hand.
The weight of that cell phone was heavy, wasn’t it?
The glow of the screen illuminated who you are and what decisions you make under pressure.
Is this what I want to be known for? Cheating on a quiz?
“I carved her name in the table,” my voice, dripping with shame, cut through the tension in the living room.
I had to drop the emotional weight I was carrying, even though I knew it would be painful and embarrassing. I had been cruel; I had lied. But I didn’t want to be that person anymore. So I confessed, and I traded my guilt for a just punishment.
You are not a liar. You proved that today when you were the first student in the cellphone cheating scandal to step forward.
Two other students have also admitted that they were involved, following your positive example yet again.
Believe it or not, my mom still has that coffee table. It’s covered with a white, lacy tablecloth, a symbol that my egregious sin was forgiven. But sometimes, Lauren and I move the lamp and the stack of heavy books, fold up the tablecloth and run our fingers along the curves of the letters of her name.
This decision will follow you. Just like the scarred coffee table, you won’t ever be able to completely erase this mistake, but you certainly can move forward.
In college, you can be removed from a class or expelled from a university altogether for cheating. Let being caught in the 6th grade be your ruined coffee table. Let it be a reminder to you that a decision to lie, cheat and not be true to yourself is never worth it.
Remember who you are and who you are not.
All my love,