My introduction to my sixth grade math teacher, Sister Mary El, occurred when I was in the fifth grade; she would come into my classroom, taunting my teacher Mrs. Supon about the New York Mets. Sister Mary El was a diehard Red Sox fan; Mrs. Supon adored the Mets. Sister Mary El's affinity for the Red Sox was considered an anomaly where I grew up in New York--especially when she had not one but two baseball teams to choose from. No one understood why she went against the grain. One day she came into our classroom wearing red knee socks, pulled all the way past her knees, dancing around the aisles. She wore the same socks (or perhaps she had several pairs) all week long, as the Boston Red Sox played the New York Mets in the 1986 World Series. She cheered for her team to a fault; she didn't back down or give up on them. That was the year I knew most of the Mets by name--Darryl Strawberry, Keith Hernandez, Lenny Dykstra, Gary Carter--but I didn't have a way to show my affection for my team like Sister Mary El did. To put it simply, I wanted to wear red socks just like her. Even when the Red Sox lost that year, Sister Mary El donned her red knee socks, not giving up on her team.
The next year, I learned so much about confidence from Sister Mary El when I finally landed myself in her math class. Every time we took a test, she would change our seats when she was ready to hand the test back. However, she had this unorthodox teaching practice of sitting us in order of our grade on the test. I always hoped to sit in the front row, where the students with the highest grades sat. That was not always the case, though. Had it been English class, I may have had a better track record. At the time, I thought it was a cruel reality, as the students with the lowest test scores were not only called out but were forced to sit in the back of the room. Yet, what I know now is that she gave all of us a goal to aspire to and confidence when we did land in that front row seat. And maybe there's something to be said for that. Like the way she believed in the Red Sox, she believed in us. She made us aspire to be better. She was proud of us.
This month, more than anything, I want you to know I am proud of you. I am wearing the figurative red socks to cheer you on. Even if you feel like you're not winning the World Series known as school, I'm cheering for you, dancing down the aisles, and never giving up. Life is not easy being a teenager. There are pressures coming from you in every direction. You are expected to maintain exceptional grades, complete hours of community service, play sports, join clubs and possess leadership roles in each of them. Some days I know it feels like you are in a giant Jenga game, trying to balance all of the blocks so nothing topples over. I've taught teenagers long enough to know that some days you're on top of the world. Other days, you just don't feel good enough.
This month, I want you to know it's okay. Not everyone can sit in the front row and get the highest score on the test. It's okay. What I considered cruel as a twelve year-old, I now know was a method of motivation. You see, I studied extra hard for every math test after that first one. I wanted to move up where I sat. Other students did the same. And when you did move up, Sister Mary El cheered you on, making a big deal of where you sat. Sister Mary El taught me how to look the world straight in the eye. Even when her team lost--and the Red Sox lost the World Series after seven games and most notably, a 10-inning game won by the Mets in game 6 that year--she didn't give up on who they were. And I want to tell you, neither will I.
Think about what you've accomplished this month. My IB English students composed digital compositons comparing Hamilton, Antigone, and the songs of John Lennon that were nothing short of incredible. Composition Theory students have tutored close to 400 students by now and are working on a research project that is college-level work. My TOK juniors are developing strong topics for their extended essay research, and TOK seniors have almost reached the finish line of IB assessments. What I need you to know more than anything is that you are more than a number. You are more than a grade. Those things don't define you. They never should.
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| IB English students collaborating |
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| Composition Theory working on an advertising project |
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| TOK Juniors researching their Extended Essay |
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What I learned from Sister Mary El is that sometimes we need to be serious, but other times, we just need to wear the red knee socks and hope for the best. Don't lose sight of who you are. Act as if what you do makes a difference--because it does. Sometimes we just are misunderstood. Honestly, I find very few people in life understand me. They don't understand why I don't like cheese, why I'd rather read a book than watch the movie, and why I struggle with conflict, emojis, and all things that bark. I'm misunderstood on a daily basis, and I'm okay with that. So as you go through life and feel that same kind of misunderstanding, know it is okay. I wish I could help everyone--including the colleges you are applying to, seniors--know how great you are, how smart you are, how utterly hardworking and creative you are. But what I can tell you is the advice I learned from reading Ralph Waldo Emerson in college: "To be great is to be misunderstood." Emerson goes on to describe a litany of people in his essay "Self-Reliance" who were misunderstood but went on to do amazing things. So if you're ever at a point when you feel misunderstood, when you're wearing the red knee socks in a sea of Mets fans, know perhaps it's because you're great. I hope you always see yourself that way, even on the days when it's difficult to. I know I do.
Love love love this! Thank you!
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