On the last day of class I handed out personal letters to each student in both my eighth grade classes. I always felt that handwritten letters carry a certain weight to them and I wanted every student to know how much they impacted my experience.
Writing these letters was really inspiring. It allowed me to take stalk of all my interactions with the students. A sort of final assessment for both their learning and my teaching. And as I wrote to each student I wondered, what did I want their final lesson to be?
What I found myself writing most often was a reminder to not let their peers label them. The Brain. The Angry Feminist. The Snob. The Class Clown. The Quiet One. The Leader. The Temper. The Procrastinator. The Lost Cause.
(Cue music “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” as I walk across a football field.)
Now before this turns into the end of a John Hughes movie I want to acknowledge that yes, I know they are entering high school. I know it is impossible to avoid being stamped as something. So instead I hope the label placed on my students will be: A Good Person. These other aspects of my students may still exist, but if they are seen first as the good people they are then I know that more doors will stay open for them.
What seems so magical about eighth grade, and perhaps middle school in general, is that nothing feels all too permanent. Mistakes made by students still have a chance of being redeemed, students’ behavior can still change, and the world is still theirs for the taking. The end of eight-grade can be a clean slate. Or at least an attempt at one.
*Throws leather gloved fist in the air.
Writing these letters was really inspiring. It allowed me to take stalk of all my interactions with the students. A sort of final assessment for both their learning and my teaching. And as I wrote to each student I wondered, what did I want their final lesson to be?
What I found myself writing most often was a reminder to not let their peers label them. The Brain. The Angry Feminist. The Snob. The Class Clown. The Quiet One. The Leader. The Temper. The Procrastinator. The Lost Cause.
(Cue music “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” as I walk across a football field.)
Now before this turns into the end of a John Hughes movie I want to acknowledge that yes, I know they are entering high school. I know it is impossible to avoid being stamped as something. So instead I hope the label placed on my students will be: A Good Person. These other aspects of my students may still exist, but if they are seen first as the good people they are then I know that more doors will stay open for them.
What seems so magical about eighth grade, and perhaps middle school in general, is that nothing feels all too permanent. Mistakes made by students still have a chance of being redeemed, students’ behavior can still change, and the world is still theirs for the taking. The end of eight-grade can be a clean slate. Or at least an attempt at one.
*Throws leather gloved fist in the air.