In my slap-dash attempt to cover all emotional and friendship bases the other day, my “chocolate healing” post fell woefully short of its mark. I was trying to say a lot in a small space, and the excess goo didn’t patch or mend, it just stunk the place up. I was trying to say I am sorry. I should have just said that, and shut my pie-hole.
Inspired by Look At My Happy Rainbow’s post, his heartfelt love letter to a colleague, I am inspired to attempt the same. I fear I will fall woefully short again. He is a kindergarten teacher after all. There is intrinsic love and admiration for all kindergarten teachers, male or female, young or old, new or experienced. Kindergarten teachers are the first adults that take on a stature, significance, and set the tone for future school experiences, positive or negative. Usually, it’s positive. In some ways, I have been envious of that hero worship that comes with the territory of being a primary teacher. I teach big kids, on the brink of adulthood. Many have had to be their own parents for a long time, and resist my attempts to help guide them along. No matter. I do what I can, and do what I must.
It is a hard job. No question. And if I ever made this job more difficult for a colleague than it needed to be, then I am doubly ashamed. So I am going to take this moment again –ignoring laundry, grocery lists, and errands and write you all a love letter. I do love you. I love my friends who have been through the trenches of our master’s program. I love my teammates who are truly teammates, although it isn’t a “sport,” (I didn’t play sports growing up), I would challenge anyone who thinks that I and my two core teammates aren’t working in concert, or working as a well-tuned machine that would stand up to any sports analogy one might make. Bring it.
And the ripple-effect of support doesn’t stop with my teammates and cohort friends. It extends to the teachers in the hallway who have my back in case I need to talk to a student in my room during passing time and I can’t stand “on guard duty” in the hallway. It’s for those teachers who understand that I’m not intentionally trying to undermine or not support them if I let a kid eat a Starburst in my room. It’s for the secretaries and support staff who understand my sense of humor, because we all know that’s our survival. It’s for the mentors at every level of administration who don’t feel like ‘ADMINISTRATORS’ but true mentors and friends, who want me to succeed because they know in their hearts how much I care about OUR students, and will go the extra mile for them. They stand by me during the marathon of the year, giving me cups of water and cheers.
So, I do love you. I am humbled by you. You make me bigger than I am by myself.