She came. She saw. She conquered...
A love letter to the last 6 years…
This year marks a change in my life that I thought about
many times but that I never actually saw becoming a reality. For half of my adult life, I have taught in
Chicopee. My first year, I was a high
school teacher (and a rather terrible one) and then came the biggest
transformative moment in my young life: I was going to be forced to teach middle school (I bolded forced on purpose, since
there was no option and I cried hysterically when I got the news). So I became a 6th and 7th
grade middle school teacher at the tender age of 25. This was my quarter life crisis. This was a moment when I faltered and thought
to myself, “Should I stay and try this out or do I run far, far away from this?” When I decided to be a teacher I would say,
“I’m thinking high school, because I was even a nightmare in middle school and
I was a half decent kid.” I had a tough
year in my own personal life that first year and the thought of more change
or going to a new position somewhere else and restarting was too scary and too
complicated to bear, so I decided to tough it out.
This was the single greatest decision I have ever made.
I remembered the advice given to me by my high school
Psychology teacher, who I had emailed when I found out I was going to be a
teacher. He said, be firm and stick to
your guns, but always make sure your students know you care. When I began, I remember standing in front of
these kids probably more scared of them than they were of me, worried that they
would see through my strong façade. I
saw my high school students and felt a yearning to not be a middle school
teacher. However, that was the job and
so that was what I was going to have to do.
I had one student who I remember paired up with one of my former
students for mentoring. I knew that she
was a tough kid, but I also knew that the 11th grader would be able
to get through to her. They bonded over
the fact that in the beginning they hated me so much. I was so strict, I lost my temper, I was
rigid. I was like a drill sergeant. However, the 11th grader told my 7th
grade girl that she had hated me, until she realized how much I genuinely cared
about my students. The previous year,
that student had come to me with a personal problem that would have scared most
adults to even discuss with her.
Instead, she found the one person who knew exactly what she was going
through and so I sat with her in my classroom and talked her through it, encouraged
her to talk to her mom, encouraged her to be open and honest and reminded her
that none of it was her fault, bad things happen, but you can’t let them break
you. Hearing this story from both girls,
that they had hated me until they realized I cared struck a cord with me. It started the ball rolling for me to make
sure that all of my students knew that I cared about each and every one of them,
whether they were current students or not.
That was a transitional moment for me as a teacher, because
I realized that I had forgotten one of the best things about me as a human
being; empathy. From then on, it was
like a switch clicked in my brain for a moment.
I realized that I had forgotten, in my fear of the monstrous middle
schoolers in all of their hormonal glory, that they are just smaller humans. So I started trying to reach students who
others thought were unreachable. I
started to really talk to them, and really get to know them. What began as something so negative, slowly
started to spiral into something remarkable.
I never shied away from telling them a story about me when I was a
kid. If that bribery would get them to
focus in class then heck yes, I would tell them about the last time I went
hiking (I was 10) and rolled down an entire mountain trail, leaving all the
skin from one of my elbows in the dirt (an ode to my clumsy nature). Regale stories about times when I was awkward
or my weird Hot Topic phase that was oh so late 90s early 00s (I even pulled
out my old rewards card, full but never used for 10% off my total
purchase). I brought in my old school
IDs and showed them how much I changed just in the course of 4-6 years. I told stories from college, of me getting
second degree burns in the sun in El Salvador and being given the nickname
“Sausage legs” for the rest of the trip.
How someone posted a picture reminiscing about a bus ride through the
mountains and no one had noticed that my face was not in the picture, but my
scarred ankles were, as I was sitting backwards to elevate them (doctor’s
orders). One particular day, the
students asked if I would play in the teacher student basketball game and after
saying NOPE too enthusiastically, I explained that when I had played basketball
I was a Center/Forward and now I was always Point, which I didn’t know how to
play because I hadn’t grown since I was 12.
One student raised his hand and asked, “So…Miss, you’ve just grown
wider?” while splaying his hands out to illustrated my expanding frame. The deadpan stare came out as he said it and
then his friend made it even better by gasping and saying, “Ohhh, you just
called Miss chubby!” As the class
erupted, I laid my head on my hand and thought, “This is my life now…” Looking
back, I cannot be more grateful for that.
I have stories upon stories about teaching middle
school. After that first year, I signed
contract after contract. I stayed
because something magical happens when you teach middle school. Something I hadn’t really expected to enjoy
as much as I do. They grow up. The best part? You get to watch and help and enjoy every
second of seeing that. So I stayed, year
after year. I stayed even though I never felt good enough. I stayed even though I knew I was not that
good at the paperwork (lesson plans are the bane of my existence). I stayed because I was a natural born story
teller and I could give a lecture on the Persian Wars that would make the hair
on your arms raise up in salute. I was
the teacher who could read a kid’s face and know if they were going through
something. I was a teacher who could
catch a lie before the student even told it.
I became something more than I ever thought was possible, I became THE Strem. I was the raucous story-teller, I was the
protector, I was the shoulder to cry on.
My six years of teaching is what created who I am today. Not all of it, but a huge chunk of it, can be
attributed to the people (students, teachers, parents) alike that I have met
during my time here.
When I started, I was in rough emotional shape. I had survived cancer 2 years prior, had
moved to western Mass to be with a guy who wasn’t very good for me, and was in
general unsure of myself. During that
year, I remember wearing hand-me-downs from my mother because I lacked
professional clothes (that fit me, since I had also ballooned to the largest I
had ever been). I was a shell of the
human I am today. Throughout the last
six years, through this job, and because of my kids, I learned to love me. It was a destination that I didn’t even know
I was on the path toward. I thought I
was just doing yet another job. However,
if you let it, teaching will change you as a human being.
The Strem I am today buys gaudy custom Converse every year. The Strem I am today wears dark purple
lipstick without a second thought. The
Strem I am today can recognize a running child by the back of their head. I can command a classroom with a clap of the
hands, raising them before me like a conductor waiting to start a beautiful
piece of music. I am strong. I am confident. I am brave.
And I could not have gotten here if it weren’t for all of the people
that this school has brought into my life over the years.
To the teachers and staff members that I have been lucky
enough to meet through this job who have inspired me, taught me, laughed with
me, cried with me, and been the best friends I could have ever asked for in
this world. Thank you. I have met more amazing human beings at this
job than some people may meet in the entirety of their lives. For that I am so thankful and so happy.
To the students. To
my kiddos, it has been a constant honor in my life to watch you grow. I have too many stories and too many faces
flashing through my head as I write this, but every single one of you has taught me something. Every single one of you has touched my heart
and added a little piece back to my fractured soul. That is hundreds of little pieces
added into this one person’s heart and soul.
Teaching for the last 6 years has been like being the Grinch at
Christmas-time. Every year, my heart
grew in size (metaphorically of course, since literal growing would mean I died
years ago). When I think about leaving,
and when I found out it was in fact happening, I was so afraid and so hurt to
not be able to watch you every day. I
thought about the hundreds of parents whose kids I no longer teach who I’ve
promised to keep an eye on even though they are no longer in my classroom
daily. I have thought about the tears
and the laughs that we have every day. I
have thought about the secret handshakes that have developed over the years,
one of the highlights of each day. I
have thought about all of the people I have seen come and go from this place,
so many that I think about regularly and wish I could check on. I thought about how sad it might make some of
you, or how it might affect your focus.
At first I was engulfed in fear that somehow, this would hurt maybe not
all of you, but some of you and that stung me deep into the core of my being. However, here’s a thought:
I am with you guys every day. Each time you tell the story about that one
time I was walking down the hallway, started doing the running man, and fell
straight to my knees in front of the computer lab, I’m there. Each time you remember how we re-enacted the
battles of the Persian War and I sent students through the middle classroom
doors to “ambush” the Spartans and scare the bajeesus out of them, I’m
there.
This also works to the opposite affect: you are always
with me. I spend more time talking about
you kids and your stories than I spend talking about anything else. When someone asks me what I do, I gush about
all the things I’ve seen and the lovely small humans I’ve had the pleasure of
knowing. I talk about the kids I’ve
known since they were teensy little 6th graders who will be graduating
in just a year. I have realized that no
matter what, in the time we’ve had together you have become more a part of my
life than any one thing. Through the
last 6 years, I have always said once you’re one of my kiddos, you’ll always be
one. It turns out this is the absolute
truth.
Although leaving the school is incredibly sad for all of us,
I want you to remember something. People
will come in and out of your lives, but the ones who matter the most are the
ones who leave a lasting imprint on your heart and soul. Each and every one of you has left your mark
on me, and I will love you all the more for it.
There will never be a day that I don’t think about you and my high hopes
that you are well and striving. There
will never be a week that I don’t check in with the teachers who are staying
and seeing how you all are. There will
never be a moment when you cannot reach out to me and ask for advice, or ask
for help, or just say hi. I am your
Strem and nothing about this will change.
So I am off for a new adventure, and who knows what the future holds in
store for me. Am I scared? A little bit.
But I’m also excited for a change and excited to see what I can do in
this new iteration of my being. The unsure
girl who moved to Western Massachusetts when she was 22 years old is gone. I am a new person because all of you. So I know that whatever it is that I end up
doing, everything will be okay, because I ended up with the best family in the
entire world. I love you all. Thank you.
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