Author: Julia E. Torres

“‘Our communication, she said, is the mightiest gift passed down by our people.  Every word you write and read, every picture you draw, every step you take should be in the service of our people. ‘Don’t be distracted. Be directed.'”

–Kiese Laymon Heavy

When people ask me how #NCTE18 was, I definitely hesitate before giving a reply.  On the one hand, I have never felt so seen, or so held by my people, so blessed to be able to present sessions that I believe will actually result in some forward movement. I can’t profess to know everything, but I can speak to my experience with ideas and teaching moves that I believe will improve conditions for the most underserved children in the public school system.  It is humbling, and I take the responsibility to represent groups of people very seriously.  So, I go to conventions and put in my two-cents because I still have hope that things, and people–this profession, can change.  Lots of folks think I’m absolutely crazy for holding onto that hope.

I feel so honored to have people from various platforms looking to me as someone who will propel things forward, but it is also somewhat surprising, because I still very much see myself as someone who is, in many ways, still figuring it out as I go.  I’m still learning, too.

Though I love going to NCTE to see, and learn from the people, and I have never seen so many POC at NCTE as I did this year; I also presented five times, went to various sessions and meetings as part of my duties as Secondary Representative-at-Large, and tried to be present for social engagements.  It was a lot.  I read a Twitter thread from N. K. Jemisin that mentions how cons, “eat guests alive,” and I felt that statement in my soul by Sunday morning, and perhaps several times in the days before that!

With that said, a packed house for discussions about disrupting the literary canon, open dialogue about diversity, inclusivity, and anti-racist teaching practices within English education (and NCTE as an organization), and co-presenting one of the most fire sessions I’ve ever witnessed about Culturally Sustaining Pedagogy was a dream come true for me.  Meeting, and getting to connect with authors I have respected and admired for ages  from afar, was a dream come true for me.

On the other hand, it was also incredibly draining to hear about horrific homophobic statements that were made in a session, appropriation of #BLM by well-meaning (I presume) white women, blatant erasure of Native people and their contributions to Lang arts education, as well as other instances of emotional violence and outright ignorance that prove some folks living in the age of the newly (and performatively woke) may not be as far along as they would like to believe.

It might help if people understood that for those of us who have been historically or consistently underrepresented in the field of education, these “instances” that people would like to see as one-offs or isolated events are anything but that.  It is exhausting to always have to be the one to point that out.  I can’t speak for everybody, but I can speak for myself when I say that whenever I go into spaces where POC are not the majority, I hope things like these will not happen.  Yet, they always do. I feel cut by them, and this is what makes attending educational conferences so exhausting.

Continually bracing yourself for impact is exhausting, so much so that I know many educators belonging to marginalized groups–which is to say those that have experienced continual, and deliberate exclusion from professional conversations in the field of education–who refuse to attend conferences at all.

So, why do I continue to go, you ask?  This year wasn’t the first time that I’ve been in a predominantly white space, quite literally, surviving, while doing my best to be as honest to myself, representative of my community, and supportive of my peers as possible.  This isn’t the first time that, given the fact that over 80% of all educators are white, and female, I had to perform comfort with a lot of the codes of behavior and patterns of interaction that do not feel comfortable, normal, or natural to me.  However, this is the first year that I felt held by the people who were there with me.  I’ll refer you to this blog post by the founder of Educolor and my friend Jose Luís Vilson and these pictures, so you can see/feel the love that was there.  These people sustained–rather than drained–me.  This is how we get by, as we have gotten by–for years.  I operate in these spaces to fulfill the promise that, “Tomorrow, there will be more of us,” (J. Vilson) and to try to give back to those who have invested so much in me.

The debate about whether the resistance is best fought from within, or separately and from the outside, is a perpetual one.  Right now, I have the energy to dedicate (mostly unpaid) time and energy to quite a few organizations.  I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to represent my work, my experience, and my community within them.  I value each and every one of the organizations that has stated their belief in me and shown it with a willingness to lift up my voice out of so many others they could have chosen. I’m learning so much along the way.

But, I wrestle with what that means too, and whether I am centering whiteness, rather than the concerns of my people, if I’m working predominantly within organizations most people of color actually doing the work in economically disenfranchised communities have never heard of.   If something about my work results in an LGBTQI or IBPOC student having a better experience in school and perhaps seeing themselves as a future teacher or librarian, then maybe the results are worth the struggle it is taking to get there.  However, as I see it, there is a reason professional organizations rise and fall, and though many of them have existed for decades, we are witnessing the dawn of a new era in professional learning experiences for educators.

• There is the rise of the Educelebrity–troubling as that concept is–ESPECIALLY for educators of color who have to wrestle with what it means to make yourself consumable for the white, female, masses in order to affect change.  One could argue that some folks out there have a tremendous amount of social, intellectual, and economic capital at their disposal.  One could argue that once one has reached a level of “edustardom” it then becomes even more imperative to open the gates wider for folks you know are sitting on the other side.
• There is the persistent whiteness of educational publishing, that some are making great strides to disrupt.  What do we do after the doors are opened and folks revert to the all-too-human (and colonization inspired) urge to compete for very few spots at the top?  Talk about double-consciousness–woo!  What is their responsibility to make sure internalized racism, which we all have, doesn’t result in toxicity for us?  How is holding everybody to the same expectations regarding norms of communication, work patterns etc. (knowing what it has taken us to “arrive” and all that we continue to deal with once we have) fair?

I was once told by an editor I greatly respect and admire that, “Everybody great can’t be published.”  I believe that to an extent, though I always return to this notion that until very recently, Iceland published more books per capita than just about anywhere in the world, isn’t that something?

But I digress…

• There are free EdCamps EdCollab Gatherings, and alternative Educons like #HipHopEd, #NYCORE, Montessori for Social Justice and #JCSLC  where folks such as myself are organizing and participating in professional learning that is restorative, inclusive, and community centered.  Lots of folks leave these spaces feeling refreshed and better able to tackle the inevitable burnout that appears sooner or later for everyone as a consequence of a lifetime spent in this profession.  So how are these spaces different?

For one thing, behind the scenes of every conference I attend, there are folks from every background going through that painful family remix known as separation and divorce, with close family members dying of terminal illnesses, wrestling with mental or physical health issues–or trying to help close family members deal with them–and some people who are trying to manage all of these situations at once. These are the realest of the real things, which is why conferences, and the organizations that run them would do well to consider the role of mutual care, restoration, and culturally inclusive norms of social interaction if they want to survive.  People should not have to feel they need to recover from the experience of attending an educational conference, yet that is the world too many of us are living in, and it doesn’t have to be that way.

The expectation that folks check their personal lives at the door and go into work mode is not something I have seen in spaces dominated by people of the global majority (Thank you Lorena Germán for that phrase, which I love).  It’s not who you know, what side gigs come your way, or how fiercely you network that matters.  I have seen more than one educator attempt to use their connections as a form of social currency, to assert importance/power over others, which I find really… interesting.  How we treat one another, how we honor each other’s humanity and lived reality in these spaces by listening to people who are there and making room for those who are not, then re-imagining the space to include and support, everyone’s professional learning is what will really transform the future shape of teacher education as we know it.

Denver School for International Studies at Montbello Graduation Ceremony

University of Denver

May 31, 2018

Seniors, class of 2018, I can tell you honestly that when they told me you chose me to be your graduation speaker, I had to take a pause because I really didn’t know in that moment whether you choosing me meant that you loved me….or hated me!  Is this payback for all the times I had you do seminars in my class? Because if it is, you win! Can I sit down now? No? Okay then, I guess here we go…

You all know I am no public speaker.  What I am is a teacher who loves teaching, and who loves you.  What few people know about being a teacher is that it is soul food.  It is a soul enriching experience, and as your teacher, you all have fed me–and our community well.  People think that children come to school to be taught, and to get tools they need for their futures, and to some extent, that is true.  But what they don’t know is that you all are teachers too. You teach lessons in love every day when you rally around your classmates in times they have struggled.  You teach compassion when you put your own academic progress to the side to help your bilingual peers with class work in Spanish when English won’t do the job. You teach truth when–in a society that claims to value multiculturalism in theory but elevates monolingualism in practice, you have unapologetically carved your own path, and I respect you so much for it.  What you may not realize is that all this time, you have taught the adults around you so much. If I have learned nothing else in my time with you, I have learned the importance of standing tall and being proud of who you are–no matter the cost. I have learned from you that with love, compassion, and truth, all things are possible.

It was my privilege to travel halfway around the world with some of you, watch you build vertical gardens, play with orphans, and pour love into painting a balcony at a pre-school in Brazil.  Even there, so far away from home, when you could have been more concerned with tourism and sightseeing, you carried with you a defining spirit of showing love and compassion, through concrete action, as your truth.  You feed the souls of those around you well, staying true to the warrior spirit that lives within you, and the tradition of your ancestors that came before you.

One of those ancestors, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that,” and it reminds me of the time when not long after the most recent election, when our country fell into chaos the likes of which I have never seen, hate-fueled messages that ICE was coming to our school descended upon us–as the coldest winter frost, making so many of us feel vulnerable and victimized.  You could have scattered. You could have fled. You could have let your hearts harden over with hatred for those who would so cruelly and hypocritically rescind the promise of liberty and justice for all that America so brazenly offers and then systematically steals away. But you didn’t. You stood together in love. You rallied around your friends who justifiably felt betrayed, those whose hearts were laid bare.  You fed their souls with love, compassion, community–and together, we pulled through it. In doing so, you taught me and many adults around you (in these troubled times, where cowardice is all around) the truth of what it really means stand up for one another–to drive out hate with love, and light.

You stand up in the tradition of Cesar Chavez who said, “Students must have initiative; they should not be mere imitators. They must learn to think and act for themselves – and be free,” and fight you have against those who would reduce you to a statistic, a robot that is only as good as a score on a standardized test written by those who lack any knowledge of your culture, stories, language, or community–because you know you are so much more than a number.  Your unshakeable faith in yourself is your sword of truth. You have been to board meetings and spoken back about what it means to build community only to have adults disagreements and discord attempt to burn it down. You have rejected the narrative that our school, our community, is less than. You have competed in cheer competitions and soccer matches carrying with you Montbello Warrior pride. You have rallied against gun violence in schools, marched for peace on MLK day, and united in the largest Women’s March to take place in the history of this country, because you know that despite the limitations many would try to place upon you, you are free.  You will not be boxed in by anyone’s limiting definitions of you. You know who you are and where you come from. It is from you that I have learned the importance of self-awareness, and holding on to one’s identity at all costs, because without knowledge of who we are both collectively and as individuals, we are as lost as our current government which, in the eyes of the rest of the world, is a sinking ship, adrift at sea–alone.

But I who have lived and learned beside you, been nurtured and taught by you, know that with you at the helm of this ship, we certainly will not be alone for long.  You who stand so firm in the knowledge of who you are, you who love boundlessly and faithfully, you who stand tall in your truth and are the best of us–will usher in a beautiful, bold and brave new world.

I know this because I have seen some of you spend days in hard physical labor on the Blackfeet reservation in order to make sure their youth had a place to escape the harsh realities of life in a country that has commited mass genocide of Native people, and continues to do so (to this day) while refusing to acknowledge that fact–or offer any kind of reparations–as if there could be any that would be sufficient.

I know this because when people say #BlackLivesMatter, you have pushed back and demanded they show it–in all places, especially at school–with concrete action.  You know to demand more, and better, from institutions designed to protect you when [as James Baldwin once said] you can’t believe what people say because you see what they do.

I know this because I have seen many of you come together to recognize International Women’s Day with messages of love and empowerment for all people regardless of gender, protecting and affirming everyone’s right be whomever they choose to be, and to love whomever they choose to love.  You have met wave after wave of painful revelations of sexual misconduct that came forth in the #MeToo movement with compassion, truth, and love for one another, protecting and standing up for each other as you always do.

I know this because I have seen you bravely and openly write and talk about your experiences as DACA recipients and Dreamers who have learned to live every day as though there is no tomorrow, because the promise of tomorrow and the freedoms that so many others take for granted–you cherish above everything.  You know that true freedom is a gift, one worth fighting for. So, you prize your intellectual freedom above all else. With all of your academic achievements, and despite, or maybe because of, all the systemic inequities we face, you make your families, your community, and your teachers proud. You have taught us that there is no excuse for not bringing your best to any task, and that through perseverance and hard work, all things are possible.

And so, when J.Cole says there are, “No role modelz” I see you right here right now.  When Cardi B says, “I’m the hottest in the street know you prolly heard of me” I picture each of you saying those words– you can be whoever you want to be. When Kendrick Lamar says, “We gon’ be alright.  Do you hear me? Do you feel me?” I believe him. When Banda Tierra Sagrada says, “Ojalá que lleguen a tu puerta solo puras bendiciones Ojalá que nunca te arrepientas de las malas decisiones.”– I know that when you do, because everybody does eventually, you’ll pick yourself up, keep it movin’. And when Drake says it’s, “God’s plan [you] hold back, sometimes [you] won’t. [you] feel good, sometimes [you] don’t– I just hope you know, that it’s a lotta good things that we wishin’ and wishin’ and wishin’ and wishin’ and wishin’ on you.”

You who teach us–will go on to be immigration lawyers, nurses, mechanics, social workers, and so much more.

You who inspire us–will go on to speak truth to power and refuse to stand by in silence while others, even the leaders of this country, would use their voices to oppress us and call it “freedom”.

You who love one another–will go on to be leaders in your communities and the world at large proving with selfless actions that love is the only truth there is.

You who know your worth–will refuse to stand by in silence while those who show blind and ignorant obedience to the unjust laws of this land would try to make you feel inferior.

“The revolution will not be televised,” it will come as a quiet storm. It will look like each of you with right fists of resistance raised high.  To teach you, to be taught by you, and to be a part of your story has been one of the great blessings of my life. Those of you that know me know that I always say, “I love you too much to lie to you.”  The adult world you are going into is one often fraught with woeful ignorance and chaotic confusion, contempt for all that is good and a bizarre fascination with all that is wrong with humanity. But Glória Anzaldúa has said, “Caminante, no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andar./Voyager, there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks,” and I know that you are the change we seek.  You will build the bridges we need to cross into a better future, a brighter tomorrow. This world needs your love, your compassion, your strength of spirit to sustain us, now more than ever.

So, kids…my hope for you is that you: Carry our love with you wherever you go/Lleven nuestro amor donde quiera que vayan/Remember that we will always be here for you when you return./Estaremos aqui siempre cuando vuelvan/Go into the world and make your mark/Ojalá que hagan su propio camino/We believe in you/Nosotros creemos en ustedes/The world is waiting for you/Y el mundo los espera/May you be blessed/Que sean bendecidos

And now, one last time, please rise and join me for In La’kech

Tu eres mi otro yo/You are my other me/ Se te hago dano a ti/If I do harm to you/ Me hago dano a mi mismo/I do harm to myself/ Si te amo y respeto/ If I love and respect you/ Me amo y respeto yo/I love and respect myself

We love you.  I love you. Congratulations, class of 2018.

“We should learn to accept that change is truly the only thing that’s going on always, and learn to ride with it and enjoy it.”

“Fear is real, but so is love.”

—Alice Walker

Saying goodbye is something we protect ourselves a lot from in this society.  Just the commonality of the phrase, “See you later” indicates that we like to leave things unfinished.  We like to leave people with the reassurance that the conversation and connection will continue, it’s not over.  Generally, we run from endings and closure.  There is a collective and very human fear of the unknown, and the future is not yet written which, if you think about it, can be scary.

A student of mine said to me this week over our Senior lunch outing as we were talking about growing up, and life, “I know that I have to grown up, Miss.  I just don’t like the idea of it.  I’m scared to graduate.”

I get it.  Change is often scary because we lose the false sense of security and control we have built around ourselves in most situations in order to feel safe.

But what if, rather than avoiding, fearing, or dreading endings, we learned to see them another way?  What if we saw endings as beginnings, as the chance to have a fresh start, to begin anew stronger, bolder, better–with all that brought our last conversation, adventure, relationship, situation, to it’s finish.  It’s never easy to say goodbye to someone if a part of us fears we will never see them again, but what if we knew that separation is an illusion, that everyone we’ve ever loved is just a thought away at any time?

This is the way I’m choosing to see the end of this school year.

This year, throughout the year, students from all eras of my teaching life have come back to visit which I just love.  I’ve received surprise DMs with photos of a yearbook note I wrote five years ago.  I’ve been asked to officiate weddings for kids I taught so long ago they are now approaching their mid-twenties and rapidly moving toward a phase of life where they know who they are and how they want to serve humanity.  I’ve gotten late night requests for homework help from students on the verge of graduating college–and I’m honored that of all the people they could ask, they would choose me, that teacher they had that one year (or in some cases several years) in high school.

All of these encounters remind me that the love I have for them and the memories that we’ve shared don’t ever die, that our relationship, though no longer technically that of teacher and student is a reciprocal exchange that will go on infinitely.  I know that my students, and the experience of being their teacher, will be a part of me wherever I go, and forever.  I know that for many of them, the feeling is mutual.

This isn’t going to be a long, or complicated blog post because

1. I’m in the middle of an INSANE amount of projects and collaborations that need my attention and energy.
2. The message is simple.  I don’t need a lot of words to say it.
3. Whatever reading this post does for you will be your own medicine.  I have no simple tips or tricks for this lesson in letting go, because I’m still learning it.

I will say that as we finish the school year, and all kinds of feelings of nostalgia descend on our hearts, making them tender, let’s just remember that endings are beginnings too.  As our relationships with our students transform into whatever they are going to be, we serve ourselves and them best by being open to transformation and by remembering to express gratitude for all the lessons we have learned through being a part of their stories.

It’s a strange thing to meet someone, pour all that you have into nourishing, loving, hoping for, challenging, cheering on, mentoring, and doing your best to inspire them.  It doesn’t take long for that connection between teacher and student to be forged.  Then, (I’ll use the Portuguese because I like it ‘de repente’) suddenly, the year is over.  It’s time to say goodbye.

I cannot think what my life will be like every day without Karely, Oscar, David, Juan, Daiana, Bethany, Nayellie, Emily, Christian, Noemi, Brian, Joseph, Maria, Daniel, Carolina, Monica, Giovanni, Ingrid, Julio, Gisel, Lizette, and Katya in it.  I’ll be honest.  I don’t even like thinking about it.  I don’t like it at all. My Seniors.  My people.  My lovers of Macbeth and WingStop #hiphoped and procrastination. My 2017-18 school year Period 9/10 class– met for the last time today.  I have learned so much from them.  We have shared each other’s sorrows and triumphs.  When one of us got suspended, we all were willing to go down together in order for things to be made right.  We’ve stayed after school for hours just to prolong the time together.  We’ve traveled half-way around the globe both on the pages of books and in the real world.  We’ve created a classroom community, complete with shared jokes and shared pain that belong only to us.  This is what teaching is made of.  This is the good stuff.  This is why this work is the best work, the real work, the only work.

So I leave you with this: May your beginnings that turn into endings become new beginnings.  May you find peace in transformation that comes when we learn to let go or say goodbye perhaps with a little sorrow, but with more joy and gratitude for all that has passed and with even greater optimism for all that is before us–the wonders of which we cannot yet know.

“When I had nothing to lose, I had everything.”–Paulo Coelho

Dear Teachers,

I can’t remember the precise moment I fell in love with teaching, can you?  If you really think about it, do you really think falling in love with teaching is something one decides to do?  Those of us who have made it past those tumultuous first five years when (statistically speaking) our chances of quitting are far greater than our chances of staying, know that teaching isn’t what we do, it is who we are.  I come from a long line of teachers. My grandmother, two great-aunts, and both of my parents were teachers. So, you could say that I was cultivated in conditions that would make this path undeniable, unavoidable.  I like to believe it was written in the stars, that my intuition, the circumstances of my birth, and timing placed me in just the right position to find my life’s work.  I knew, from the very first class I taught, that I belong with the children.  I belong with you.  So here I am, and here I will remain.  

Not a day goes by that I am not appreciative of the gift that teaching has been and still is in my life….

This love is constant – There isn’t really a moment when teaching isn’t on my mind.  I think about my students when one of them has had a particularly hard day, or had to leave my classroom in tears.  I feel the love for my community when Seniors or other alumni come back to visit with their babies or stories from college, or good news about trips they have planned.  I show love for teachers by writing blogs, joining Twitter chats, and doing my best to capture small moments of the agony, and beauty that characterizes the mood in many classrooms these days.  There is no moment in which I am not thinking about how to make things better for teachers and the children we serve.  At this point, I don’t think I could stop thinking about the work if I tried.  It has become a part of my life, and my identity, and I feel I am better, stronger, able to live more fully because of it.

This love is true – I tell my students often, “If you are going to write something, make it from your heart, and make it true.”  If you read something I’ve written, I can promise you two things –  it will definitely be from my heart, and I can promise you that it will be MY truth.  You may read echoes of the student you once were, the teacher you once had (or are), and you may come away with a better understanding of how we’ve gotten ourselves into the current mess, but what I hope most that you will come away with a sense of empowerment and conviction at the fact that we can and ARE changing this educational landscape for the better–by standing, and acting, together.  When I share my truths with the world, it is with the goal of opening up a space for conversation and transformation, to remind folks that the job of educating a child is a responsibility that belongs to all of us.  When we  do it well, the truth of that is very evident–just as it is when we do it poorly.  I am here for the truth, and I’m here for you, however long it takes us to get to the heart of things…and to begin healing. 

This love is a force – In order to reclaim education, the future, and our intellectual freedom from forces that would willfully contribute to our miseducation, and that of the children, it is essential to speak, but more importantly do the work, letting actions speak for themselves.  I am a black female educator who stands in front of our children every day.  Yet I am well aware that I am one of many voices.  Due to the inequities regarding who gets recognized as an “expert” in educational spaces, I am well aware that there are others, from all walks of life, who do not get heard, who do not feel seen.  Sometimes the inequities within education are enough to make me feel knocked over.  But, I know that together, we are a force equal to, or greater than those that are in opposition.  I know that love is the most powerful force in existence, and when it is applied with passion to a given cause or situation, it can work miracles.  So I stand beside you.  All of you.  Listen, if you see me out there in the world, know that I give hugs.  Hugs are miracles, laughter is a miracle, teamwork is a miracle, and I am here for all these miraculous events.  We are better and stronger, together. Together with our students, and other allies and advocates, we are a force for change.  

But these are strange times…Never before, has the world seen a group of students like those in classrooms today.  Fluent in most forms of technology, multicultural, multilingual, multiethnic, able to travel the world via YouTube, Google cardboard or Oculus, they are able to find introductory information on anything in an instant using Wikipedia–these children are learning all the time.  In an age where information belongs to everyone, and no-one, do we really still need teachers?  This is the eternal question, isn’t it?  When politicians and policy makers get together and make decisions that affect us, yet leave us out of their conversations, they try to make us feel that we are not worth discussing.  TV shows and movies reduce us to our worst stereotypes.  Large, for-profit corporations tell us what to teach and how to teach it, then publicize our inability to produce uniform results in a country that claims it values diversity.   Teachers’ unions are being systematically disassembled.  Tenure has all but disappeared, yet school calendars, bell schedules, and core class selections have stayed the same.  It sometimes feels like society does not trust us–as viral videos of ‘bad teachers’ float all over the web.  Yet, most people have no problem leaving their children with us for hours every single day.

In all honesty, this calling isn’t for everyone.  The insulting trope that, “Those who can’t do…teach” had to have begun with somebody who never set foot in a classroom.  Being an educator is a humbling way to spend the day.  Almost every teacher I know has, at some point or another, been brought to their knees with frustrations about educational inequity, systemic dysfunction, lack of communication, lack of funding, teacher pay, or a host of our other “educational family” problems. 

We regularly say that, “The struggle is real”–because it is.  With cell-phone culture giving birth to a society of insatiable voyeurism, there is the potential for a window into every classroom, and criticism of every teacher.  Each of us, sooner or later has to wrestle with antiquated notions of “professionalism” and an educator “double-consciousness” wherein the self is divided into public, and private.   And so, I have questions: What does it do to a person to have to split oneself in order to survive emotionally, or to maintain job security?  Why can’t society accept us being our true and whole selves?  Is it because we are supposed to be role models for the children?  Why are we held to a higher standard than those leading the country?  What could possibly serve as a foundation, helping us to survive all of this?  Love.  All things are endurable when we, ourselves, are the source of the love for this work.  We are the fountain from which hope springs eternal, along with the courage, talent, and endurance necessary to continue the fight, despite the odds.

We know that teacher enrollment programs across the nation have experienced a staggering decrease in the number of people willing to sign themselves up for the often gratifying, sometimes soul-crushing life of a public servant.  Perhaps the biggest consequence of this is that most high school students will tell you readily and openly that they would rather do anything than sign up to be a teacher. What does that mean for their children, and future generations?  Though Google has made information available in a way that has never been known before, contrary to popular belief, one cannot learn all that one needs to know in life from the Internet. We do more than deliver content. We forge relationships, and help young people navigate the often troublesome waters of childhood and adolescence (think about seventh grade for a minute–yeah–that happened).  We give students a home away from home, with each classroom in every building, in every school acting as a mini-ecosystem, a microcosm for the world, a family of sorts.

So this post is my love letter to teaching, but it is also my love letter to every educator who knows what it really means to dedicate one’s life to the betterment of our world by investing in its children.  This is my tribute to all who are about this messy, chaotic, demanding, frustrating, uplifting, and eternally hopeful life.  I hope that my words, my work, and my love, will uplift, sustain and strengthen you.  I hope that you will feel my eternal optimism–my faith in the power of transformation that comes from minds and hearts meeting each other in spaces where we learn and grow together–willing a better world into existence. I hope that next time we have a presidential debate, education won’t be completely left out of the conversation. I hope those whose path is made a little easier because someone else receives a little less will consider that the true cost of their privilege may be much greater than it initially appears.  I hope we in different communities, states, and regions can work together to re-invent our system of education so that students develop a love of learning that lasts a lifetime.

At its core, education is love in action.  All love requires some kind of an investment, and sometimes, a multitude of sacrifice.  To depart from a system of indoctrination and conformity to one that prizes authentic learning experiences and intellectual exploration above all–is an enormous undertaking.  I always say that children know the value we place upon them by those we place in front of them.  It is always an aspiration of mine to represent the best of us, and to deserve the love, trust, and respect that has been extended my way.  I stand before the children, and before you with a determination to always do better, an unquenchable thirst for more knowledge (always), and a fierce desire to make sure the children, ALL children, are provided with the education they deserve.  The children deserve the best.  May we come together, each with our own flame, and start a fire in the heart of the movement to take education into its next, beautiful stage of transformation.  Happy Teacher Appreciation Week 2018.

Yours with love,

JET ❤