Dear Students,
You don't know that I know...
You don't know that I know just how freaking smart you are.
You think you can convince me that you cannot do this school thing-
But I know better.
I know you are so smart that our amazing tech department can never block games so thoroughly that you cannot play them when you are supposed to be doing the hard work of exercising your reading muscles.
I don't know what muscles those are exactly, but I recognize the look of pain on your face every time you struggle through the just-right passage that meets you where you are and pushes you further. I recognize it from the mirror every time I try to "get healthy" and drag my 300 pounds of poor eating habits, bad genetics, and fatigue through the latest workout that promises the health and fitness that no one in my family has ever been lucky enough or well off enough to achieve.
I know that look. That look that says that this is too hard, that you have no real reason to believe you can do it, and that you're not even sure it will be worth it if you manage it. Reading- something that has long been one of my most beloved hobbies- is hard, awful work for you. It's chores and exercise and all the things that you aren't sure are worth your time.
It was never hard for me. I could read by the time I was three- but, my students, so many things that were hard and almost impossible for me- you do so beautifully and effortlessly.
A.M. - You read people so effortlessly and your mind works through problems and arguments in such a way that many a seasoned lawyer and politician would do well with even half your skill. You're so brilliant and the fact that reading makes you feel stupid contributes no small amount to your hatred of the task. But you aren't stupid- you're dyslexic. Through a trick of luck and genetics, you have to master reading on a level that's ultrahard. I want so much for you to master it anyway- because reading isn't the only part of this rigged game you're playing on ultrahard, and I want you to have every skill, every tool, and every resource possible to win anyway.
D.G.- I don't know when you learned that it was a social negative to show how brilliant you were- and I shudder to think how this lesson was drilled into you. If I could go back in time and undo it, I would. You see so much- you're a million times more insightful than most adults I know- including the one I see in the mirror. You're creative, and a better poet than I will ever be. It would be ridiculously easy for you to ace even our Gifted/Advanced Curriculum. So, instead, you put that brilliant mind and even brighter soul through the gauntlet to appear mediocre and average, standing out only in cleverness, wit, and social skills that earn you the admiration of your peers. You're a natural born leader- and you could inspire your peers better with just that natural talent than I ever will be able to with all my years of research and training on how to do just that.
That's just two of you.
I am blessed beyond belief to teach each of you. You are inspiring. You are brilliant. You are funny and witty, and experts at using verbal irony...You are the reason I keep pouring everything I have into trying to be even one-quarter of the teacher that you deserve.
So, have this, the first of many digital letters to students who will never read this.
Respectfully yours,
FatTeacher
