Dear Students...

Dear Students,

I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.

I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.

But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.

As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.

But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.

And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.

So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.

I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.

Give me a chance.

Together we can do great things.

Love,
Ms. Deaton