To Sir With Love
Dangerous Minds
Dead Poets Society
Finding Forrester
Boston Public
Mona Lisa Smile
etc.
I love lists. Did that list do anything for you? Did it, at the very least, get a song stuck in your head? Come one. You're either humming Lulu or Coolio right now, depending on your era. I'm humming both and it's kind of an awkward mashup.
If you're good at anything other than getting songs stuck in your head, you might have noticed a pattern to my picks. If you're not actually good beyond the song thing, read on. You'll surely understand the connection before I'm done here.
For a few years now, I've been teaching college writing classes--some creative, some academic. And while I know my actual job is to get them proficient at writing, I'm an overachiever. I look at these students and I see infinite potential. Then I put my glasses on, and the reality comes into focus: I'm staring at a room full of incredibly lucky kids who haven't yet discovered what education is worth.
Some days I take my glasses off and let them enjoy where they're at right now--the place in life where an epic game of beer pong is somehow more important than the government shutdown. Where their love lives are in constant turmoil and their parent are always there to bail them out.
But some days I gather my wits and embark on the Sisyphean task of inspiring the minds that will some day run this country, that will some day change the world. I know it's true--I know they will. But it's like asking me to see that my two-year-old will one day have a date to prom. That, friends, is not a reality I'm yet ready to engage with.
Still. There I go, pushing the boulder up the hill. Partially because it's my job, and partially because I belong in that list up there, just like most educators do. We believe in education. I believe in education. Specifically, I believe in literature and it's power to shift paradigms--to CHANGE THE WORLD.
This week's boulder was probably simple for my students, but profound for me. They've been reading Coelho's latest book. If you haven't read it, it's a sweet self-help book packaged in the trappings of a coptic text. It's like a religious book, but more fun than reading the Bible because, well, what isn't?
I felt a little old and jaded for his advice when I read it, so I thought people over a decade my juniors would be able to get something out of it. But remember, I'm pushing big rocks up big hills, folks! And because I push with gusto, I gave them an assignment that might as well have been labeled: Learn Something, Dammit. If Not Now, Someday.
I told them to write a letter to their future selves. Just write a letter to you five years from now, kids, reminding yourself of some of this really important stuff you're learning in this book. I didn't say, "I know you don't give a damn now, but in five years you actually might." But some of them might read this, and I'm saying it now. In five years, students, you might really, really want this advice.
Here's how I know. I can't write myself a letter to open when I'm 23. Those days have come and gone. When I was 23, I was channeling Coolio big time--I'm 23 now, but will I live to see 24? the way things is going, I don't know. I, more than most of my students probably will, needed a letter.
So, because Sisyphean tasks are my thing, and because I don't know enough about time travel to dispute the possibility, I'm going to do my own assignment. Right here, right now.
Dear Sweet Baby Girl,
I already know how things are, so I won't ask. I don't want to spoil the future for you--you just keep doing your thing! But I do have three things I want to tell you.
First and probably most important, don't do this to your hair:
I'm not even sure why I have to tell you this. I mean come on.
Second, I know by now you know you've made a mistake. A really, really big one. Not with your hair, but with life. I just want to tell you it's OK. It's OK to make mistakes, even if they're really big. But you need to stop waiting for someone to rescue you, Kimberly. That's not in your story. I know that right now you're waiting for someone to give your permission to give up, to move on. I honestly don't know who you think is going to give you permission, but if you're reading this, it's me. I give you permission. I'm the one you need it from anyway.
And third, love, I'm proud of you. You've made one really bad choice, but a whole lot of good ones. You have chosen amazing friends who (spoiler alert!) never let you down. You will never regret your dedication to your education. You don't know it now, but you're kind of a cool kid. Out on the river, with your fancy books and your big dreams. Your hair is bad but your heart is really, really good.
Love you to the moon and back.
me
PS. Go to the doctor. NOW.
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