Misunderstood: A Message for My Seniors As They Hear Back From Colleges

I am greatly misunderstood. There are very few people on this Earth who get me. People don’t understand why I don’t like cheese, why I can’t make simple decisions, why I spend so much time perfecting a lesson plan or on my teaching practice. People don’t understand why I’d rather read a book than watch the movie and why I despise conflict, emojis, and all things that bark. I’m misunderstood for my kindness. I’ve been asked, “Why are you so nice?” I’m constantly questioned about waking up at 5:30 to run and why I’m so sensitive. When I was in high school and college, I was misunderstood for my choice not to drink alcohol when all of my friends were. Yesterday, I was misunderstood when I chose Eric Clapton for the winner of my music bracket. There are strong personal reasons why, but this is not my defense on Eric Clapton. I’ll save that for another blog. I’m misunderstood on a daily basis, and I want to tell you I’m okay with that.

This week you’ll find out the last of your college acceptances/waitlists/rejections. I know from experience this week is not easy. I’ve already talked to some of you about what you’re experiencing. One of you even made me tear up when you came to talk to me. I apologize about that, by the way. I guess what I want you to know more than anything is that you might feel misunderstood if you have to face being waitlisted or rejected. It’s easy to say, “Why did she get in and I didn’t?” I know this because I have been in your shoes. I got waitlisted at William and Mary, the school I dreamed of attending, and I questioned their decision.

Are you misunderstood? Absolutely. I have no idea why colleges make the decisions that they do. Sometimes I wish I could just call them up and tell them how I’ve taught you all for four individual classes and how I’ve witnessed some of you grow from self-absorbed freshmen to caring and compassionate seniors. Or how you came into my classroom not wanting to utter a word and now I can’t get you to stop talking in a seminar. Or how much you teach me on a daily basis. Or what amazing people you are. Or how smart you are, how utterly hardworking and creative. I can't do that, and so I just try to look at any college rejection that my students face as being misunderstood.

You see, when it comes down to it, it won’t matter where you go because wherever you do end up, they are going to be lucky to have you and you are going to do great things. I know. I’ve spent four classes teaching you. That’s 360 days of educating you. Sorry...that is an awful lot of Kelly Pace.

Have you been misunderstood by some of these colleges? Absolutely. When I studied Ralph Waldo Emerson in college (one of my favorite writers because of his idealism), he wrote something that has since resonated with me: ‘To be great is to be misunderstood.” He proceeds in his essay "Self-Reliance" to list a litany of people who went on to do great things because they were misunderstood. Colleges may not understand all you have to offer them, but maybe that’s what makes you great. And wherever you do end up, whatever professors have you as their students, are extraordinarily lucky. I know. I understand. I have experienced it firsthand.

My People

My People

Who we surround ourselves with tells a lot about who we are and what we need. I married a funny guy. He has a quick wit that never fails to make anyone laugh or at least crack a smile. He can tell a story like no one I know--you need to pay close attention because it’s one filled with so many twists, turns, and circumlocutions that I feel like I am watching The Matrix or Inception every time I listen to him. My husband is so funny that sometimes it’s hard for me to tell when he is being serious. Yet for me, most of the time, he is just what I need to balance my more serious, sensitive self. Two of my three children inherited my husband’s sense of humor. Thank goodness for the middle child who has my sensitivity and compassion. She balances our family out just a little. These people--my husband and kids--are my people. Yet today I want to tell you about a few more of the people in my life who I also affectionately label as “My People.”

I met my people when I was in my thirties. They were fourteen. They were far more immature than they are now, were clueless about literary analysis, and thought that all writing consisted of writing creatively or personal narratives. I like to think I rocked the world of my people when we started to look at literature in new ways in terms of the choices writers make, but maybe I'm giving myself too much credit there.

Like my husband, my people are funny. They have introduced me to the world of memes and make me laugh on a daily basis. They know when the joke is just enough not to step over the line, though.

My people are smart They ask insightful questions and like a good challenge. In fact, my people are at the top of their class. My people are athletes. They are the top scorers of their game. They defend. They lead.

 

Some of my people have no taste in food or music, but I let that slide. To claim that Taco Bell is real food astounds me. Yesterday I tried Taqis and lost my taste buds for a good fifteen minutes. Again, my people are confused when it comes to good taste. Some of my people also don’t see that real music’s foundation comes from the greats--the Beatles, U2, Pearl Jam. But I digress. I fight an uphill battle on this one and constantly remind myself as one student in TOK earlier this year so eloquently stated, “There’s beauty in the imperfections.”

My people are leaders. They are kind, compassionate. Their most recent accomplishment being a website made for Mrs. Hess’ nephew Caleb blew me away. Their collaboration was one of the best I have witnessed in eighteen years in the classroom. One of them even was mesmerized by the videos himself. The final product is something I am proud of--it makes me proud to be their teacher and proud that my people would do such an act of kindness without even knowing the benefactor. When Mrs. Hess called me in tears about the outcome of the final website, I realized that my people may have their flaws as all people do. They may complain about their workload and procrastinate much as of late, but when it comes down to it, they care. They are kind and compassionate people.

My people are award winners. They win DECA competitions and are accepted into countless colleges and universities. After writing close to 50 recommendation letters this year, I love hearing about where my people will be going to college or where they get into college, yet at the same time, those thoughts tug at my heartstrings--thoughts that my people are soon leaving Atlee. You see, I have known my people for four years now. I didn’t get the choice to know them; they showed up in my class as young fourteen year-olds ready to learn. And they will walk out of my classroom on June 8th perhaps having changed themselves, but certainly having changed me. When people ask me what the hardest part of being a teacher is, it’s not the papers, or the meetings, or even planning the lessons. It’s saying goodbye to my students when they graduate and wondering if they’ll ever come back. Of course, I will have new people in my classroom in September, but there will be a part of me missing my “old” people. It happens every year. So, if you find I’m struggling these last few months, it’s because I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to my people.

This is probably the most honest blog I can write, but I promised myself this year that no matter how vulnerable it makes me feel, I would share my writing with my students. After all, how can I call myself an English teacher--one who teaches writing--if I don’t write for an audience myself?  So, this is the honest truth: I am afraid of what my classroom will be like without my people. It’s known them for four years and grown comfortable having them sit in there and argue, debate, write, and think.

I will conquer that fear and move on, but that’s material for another blog.  For now, I leave you with this. Continue to surround yourself with the right people--people who lead, who are compassionate, people who are funny and make you feel good about yourselves. Those people will make you see the good and the humor and the compassion in others..Today and always, I am grateful for the people I choose to be around and also grateful for you. I am the teacher I am today because of you and hope you know how lucky I consider myself to have had the chance to know you as my people.

Empowerment

When I was a junior in high school, I had the lead in the school play. We were doing a performance of Twelve Angry Women, the “sister” play to the famous Twelve Angry Men. If you’ve seen the 1957 film, I was playing Henry Fonda’s role. I was excited about this role, as I was the only juror who saw the good in the other characters for the duration of the play. I also planned to run cross country that fall. The cross country coach, however, forced me to make a decision. “You either pick the lead in the play or running,” he said. My first reaction was to ask, “Why can’t I do both?” After all, I was the kid who was involved in many extracurricular activities and never had trouble balancing my time. I ended up choosing the play because I thought, "I can run for the rest of my life, but the chances were slim that I would ever have the opportunity to play Henry Fonda’s role again." Plus, I thought there was a slight chance I would make it to Broadway (I was an idealistic 17 year-old) and this would be the first step in getting there. I think back to that decision now and realize what that coach did was empower me to make a decision. He didn’t tell me what to do; he didn’t persuade me to join his team. He told me to think about the pros and cons of both sides and really think about how they would impact my future. What I didn’t realize then is that we can’t do everything and be everything for everyone. I thought I could handle the lead and running; my coach knew that was not realistic but empowered me to make the decision.

As a teacher, I’ve learned one of the best things I can do is to empower you, my students.  I can give you a voice in my classroom. I can help you see the potential you possess--whether that be in your writing, in what you say, in the arguments you make, in the kind acts you perform. But what do you do with that empowerment? Do you empower yourself in the decisions you make? Do you take advantage of every single situation?

Here’s where I’ve seen you practice empowerment in the classroom. In IB English 11, you have been fighting for your “Fantasy Macbeth” team. Your voice has been important in arguing Shakespeare’s text as well as tackling logical fallacies in persuasion.

In Junior Theory of Knowledge you have been exploring knowledge in the arts and what that looks like. In examining whether or not art can imitate life, you created sculptures that represented your own understanding of life. Your ability to express yourself in that class is due empowerment.

In Senior Theory of Knowledge, I taught the best lesson I have ever taught in 18 years of teaching. What you did on our One Percent Day empowered each other and me. I looked around the room as we were doing that exercise to make us one percent better, and truly was amazed. Tears welled in my eyes and still do as I think about the kindness that you bestowed upon one another and to me that day.

So what do you do now? Empower someone else. Give someone else the confidence to believe in himself. Congratulate other people on their successes; don’t just thrive on yours. Build each other up. As IB students you have so many stresses and expectations derived from other people. Instead of fending for yourself with those stresses, help one another. When my sister went to Cornell University, she arrived as a pre-med major. She quickly changed her major after she was absent from class one day. No one in the class would share their notes with her when she asked to borrow them. The environment there was so cutthroat that helping a friend who was sick and missed class was out of the question. You have the ability to empower one another by working together. Remember, you are stronger in numbers when you do that.

What else do you do? Empower yourself. Work on becoming more confident. Believe in yourself. This past month in Senior TOK, one of the seniors said something in a seminar that stuck with me: “There also are roses that grow from concrete.” I love the optimism in that statement. So, I encourage you to believe in yourself. Be that rose that grows from the concrete--that person who can blossom no matter what the environment because of hard work, determination, collaboration, confidence. Own a positive attitude. Empower yourself with confidence. And know that I never stop believing in you as my students.

So did I make the right decision in choosing the play over cross country? Well, I never made it to Broadway, but today, I am a runner. I'm not sure about what to make of that irony. What I've learned more than anything is that I may not have made the decision that led me to my ultimate career, but I was empowered to make a decision for myself. In turn, I developed a confidence in myself that I use every single day in the classroom. I didn't get that confidence from taking on the lead in the school play. I couldn't learn that confidence any faster had I chosen running. I learned it because someone thought enough to empower me to make that decision. For that, I am grateful.