I had an unfortunate nickname in eighth grade, as many thirteen year-olds tend to put labels on everything. It started when one boy in my class called me "Liberty Bell" because my hair--well, let's just say I had hair of epic proportions like many teenagers growing up in the eighties. Unfortunately, mine was so thick that it also stuck out in a bell shape. Sometimes the name was just shortened to "the Bell." Had I lived in a world with hair straighteners instead of extra large hairstyles of the eighties, maybe I would have avoided the loathsome nickname. I tended to just roll my eyes and smile when I was called "the Bell," because I didn't have a retort or any kind of retaliation in me and quite honestly, that just wasn't my style. Still, any time I heard it, I despised the nickname.
No one called me that nickname in Ms. Coseglia's class, though. My eighth grade math teacher, Ms. Coseglia, meant business. She was maybe five feet tall, yet her presence reverberated throughout the entire room. She didn't put up with anyone's ridiculous antics or nicknames for that matter, and you always knew where you stood. She was tough but fair. She had a laugh that was infectious and a sense of humor paralleled to none. Her room was on the second floor of the school, right at the top of the stairs. I remember being a fifth and sixth grader, silently tiptoeing past her room in fear that she would find my movement down the hallway disruptive to her class. When I got past her room, I always breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't until I was a student in her class that I realized she was not as scary as I thought she was. In fact, she was actually really kind. She looked out for her students and put them first. She taught math but so much more--values of kindness, compassion, and honesty. No one was a favorite in her class; everyone was. She was the teacher who taught me most of all that sometimes in life, we need to give things a chance.Sometimes we need to stop living so fearfully by tiptoeing past the classroom door. For had I never given Ms. Coseglia a chance, I may not have realized what an incredible teacher she was; I may not have realized my potential.
THIS is my hope for you this school year. Whether you are starting school virtually or face to face, give this year a chance. This school year is going to be different. There are more rules in place for our safety. And every single rule seems to be revised and then revised again. All of the desks in our classroom are facing forward. That is terrifying to me; you will quickly learn that I hate to be the center of attention. There are arrows in the hallway for class changes and a paper-free pass system. Right now, there are no sports or after school activities. Everything feels a little out of place in this pandemic, like something is missing or somehow has been distorted. Yet, when you strip school down to what matters, it's there--teachers who care about you and your well-being and an excitement to be learning again.
So here is my advice to you as you attempt to give this year a chance:
1. Before you go to criticize or judge, take a step back and look at things from a wider perspective.
2. Own your mistakes and learn from them.
3. Build your own character by building others up.
4. Know that you don't always have to be the loudest in the room to be heard.
5. Be kind--to yourself and others.
6. Know that sometimes you may be ahead. Sometimes you may be behind. It all evens out in the end.
7. Understand the value of hard work and that the answer can't always be Googled.
8. Don't compromise who you are.
9. Give yourself grace. No one should try to be perfect because no one is.
10. Always--this year more than ever--maintain a sense of humor...and wear your mask!
When you look back on your education, I hope you realize it's not the facts and awards and books, but it's the people around you that shaped you into who you are. I will always be grateful for teachers like Ms. Coseglia who shaped me into who I am today. Sadly, this past spring, Ms. Coseglia passed away. I will remember her for her tough love. She talked to us like we were human beings who mattered even though I'm sure our hormonal eighth grade selves drove her crazy. Ms. Coseglia made me feel valued and a lot less like a middle schooler in my awkward "Liberty Bell" years. I recently what found her message that she wrote in my eighth grade autograph book:
I can't help but think that had I never given Ms. Coseglia a chance, she would not have written what she did, I would not have had a class block every day where I was able to safely avoid a nickname I loathed, and most importantly, I would not have grown as a student and a human being. It's a reminder to me of the need for me to embrace teaching in a pandemic no matter how much it might challenge me.
One of my favorite spoken word poets is Sarah Kay. In her poem, "If I Should Have a Daughter," she writes, "This life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air." This year is going to be hard. It's going to test us. I will be honest and tell you I am nervous to teach face to face and virtually at the same time. I'm worried I won't give you everything I usually would in my classroom under normal circumstances. I don't know how to teach without you collaborating closely with each other. To that end, I promise to try. I promise to give new ideas and opportunities a chance. I promise to continue to love what I do fiercely. I promise to remind my lungs how much they like the taste of air. I promise to help you see the good in the situation even when it's hard to find--especially when it's hard to find. Ms. Coseglia did that for me until I reached the day where I no longer tiptoed past her classroom, in fear that she would yell at me for disrupting her class. I may not like the way I have to teach due to this pandemic, but I love teaching. I have big dreams for all of you just like Ms. Coseglia did for her students. We can do all of the hard things together and keep reminding ourselves that when it gets hard, our lungs really do love the taste of air.
Welcome to Room 211! Welcome to a year that will be anything but ordinary.
