You are the Story I Tell: My Students

I truly believe that the greatest gift that you can give to another person is to genuinely let them know that who they are and what they do matters. It has been my goal in 2014 to become a more thoughtful person. A string of deaths to some individuals who positively affected my life led me to conceive this series. As the words to my favorite song go, “And for those who have stood by my side, you are the story I tell.” You are the words and pages to my story.

Over the course of the next several months, I will be writing open letters to those who have positively impacted my story. I’m not going to lie. It is my goal to make you cry, not out of grief or pain but out of the realization that you do truly matter. I am not doing this in order of how important you are to me. For the most part (other than birthdays or other important events), the letters will be done in a random order. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you come away from this with the realization that you are extremely important to me.

Dear Students,

If you are the story I tell, then I have a few thousand stories to tell from the past five years. As much as I’d love to think I taught you something (anything, really), the reality is that you all have taught me far more. Because of each of you, I’ve learned so much about myself as a person and as an educator.

To my HLR “kids” (I put kids in quotes because you’re all adults now), I can’t stress enough how much I love each of you. You changed my life. I went into student teaching with a lot of apprehension. I took all these education classes that were supposed to teach me how to be a teacher, but no class in the world can prepare you for the feelings that you get when you step into a classroom on the other side for the first time. For the first time in my life, I had confidence. You guys gave me that by listening to and caring about what I had to say. Were my pedagogical skills the best back then? Probably not. Where my classroom management skills what they needed to be? Definitely not. But that’s okay. What was important was that because of each of you, I not only believed in myself but also believed that I was in the right field. I will never forget the laughs and memories we made, from purple to Babalou’s vocal performances to poorly timed Halloween pictures. Every classroom that I walk into has you as a measuring stick. I still tell my students today about each of you. Thank you for starting my career on the right foot.

To the Orland kids that had me as a substitute teacher, thank you for growing along with me. Being a substitute teacher is not an easy job. In a lot of ways, you’re set up to fail. I’ll be honest with you. I wasn’t any good at my job when I started. All I cared about was getting you to like me. It took me until midway through my second year of subbing to realize that you didn’t have to be easy on kids to get them to like you. All I needed to do was care about you. During my three years spent with you, I learned a lot about how to deal with kids and make things work. By the time I was done, I’d like to think that I was able to do just that.

To my AAA Academy kids, you have taught me so much the last two years, and I’m not just talking about all the urban slang that I now know, nor am I talking about your encyclopedic knowledge of Chicago’s underground rap scene. Because of how small our class was last year and this year, I have been able to get through to you guys on a more personal level and figure out what does and doesn’t work with you from a behavioral and educational standpoint. I’ve realized that even though my life also feels challenging, some of you have gone through a whole lot more in half the time. You’ve taught me perspective and patience. You’ve taught me that a classroom can be a family too and that it should always be a safe haven.

I don’t know where my professional journey will take me next. What I do know is that no matter where I go, I will have gotten there because of the lessons each of you taught me. You’ve made me a better teacher and a better man. If you don’t remember anything I’ve taught you, remember that at least.

All the best,
“Mr. D.”