This I Believe

Every year I tell myself I’m going to keep up with my blog during the chaos of volleyball season, and every year I fail to keep that promise. I tend to forget just how crazy my schedule is at the start of the school year, and blogging is without a doubt the first thing to go. And I wish I could say I was busy doing all these crazy exciting things, but I’m just trying to keep my head above water with all that I’ve got on my plate. I’m not sure what has prevented me from getting a firm grasp on my schedule this year, but I've definitely had a tougher time of it.

And I plan on – one day in the near future – writing a whole post that gives an update on how my fourth (my first year kiddos are seniors!!!) year of teaching is going,

the whole point of logging back into my blogger account is to share what is, without a doubt, my favorite essay of the year: This I Believe. I have posted about it before, but I think this year’s due date came at the perfect time. I love that this essay is our first big writing assignment of the year because it allows me to get a glimpse into my students’ writing skills, yes, but even more than that, it allows me to get to know them in such a way that I learn what matters to each one of them. It offers them the opportunity to share with me a story or an experience that has led to that belief. And man, do I get some incredible stories. They are real and raw and vulnerable and funny and passionate and every year I am truly humbled that they are so willing to share their stories with me. Because their stories matter. I was grumbling about the nearly 130 essays I wanted to finish grading before the weekend ended, but at the end of the day, I cherish the opportunity to provide feedback to every one of my students. And shout out to Google Classroom for making that back and forth conversation SO incredibly easy. 21^st Century Learning, for the win!

Anyway, I told myself that I would write a new This I Believe essay each year to share with my students as we began this project. Last year I wrote about running in the rain as a means of conveying the belief that the magic happens outside of our comfort zones. This year, I took one look at my overflowing letter basket to know that handwritten letters would be my vehicle to talk about the idea that it’s not necessarily the words we say that mean the most, but the time given to physically writing them out.

I believe in handwritten letters.

In a world that is so laden with technology, the seemingly simple act of a handwritten thank-you note or birthday card tends to be replaced with a quick text message or a Facebook post. Sure, the ease with which we can type out a text is a definite convenience in our jam-packed, busy lives, but there is something about putting pen to paper that makes whatever is being communicated even more personal. It’s the loopy way she writes her L’s, or the way his handwriting is only legible if we close our left eye that forges a connection more special and long-lasting than opening a Snap.

Both of my grandmothers were (and are) big on the art of handwritten letters. My dad’s mom lives in Philadelphia, and at the start of each new month she sends me a simple note, often written on a piece of scrap paper, wishing me a happy month. She has never missed a birthday, nor a holiday. And I’ve got a whole basket overflowing with 25+ years’ worth of notes and cards scribbled in her thin cursive.

My mom’s mom passed away a few years ago, and she was without a doubt my favorite person on this planet. She lived just 10 minutes down the road and I saw her virtually every day, but she never overlooked the simple joy that came from looking through the pile of mail in the entryway and seeing a card personally addressed to me. Now that she is no longer with us, I cherish every word she ever wrote even more so than I did when I first read them.

Maybe it’s something about the older generation that has the insight that some of us “youngins” may be lacking. We grew up in a world of instant gratification, multitasking, and never-ending to-do lists. They grew up in a world that required patience and cursive and taking the time to do things right.

It’s not even what the letters say, as many of them are variations of the same message. It’s the time a person took to write me a tangible birthday card filled with sweet words as I celebrate another trip around the sun. The time a person took to encourage me through a tough season. The time a person took to congratulate me on a job well done. The time a person took away from doing something for his or her own benefit to do something that would make my day. I believe in handwritten letters, and I believe in taking the time to brighten someone else’s day by letting them know that they are more than worth a couple minutes of my precious time. It’s not the message that we remember; it’s the time and energy that went into it.

Many of my students’ essays unsurprisingly blew mine out of the water, and some of them have stories at 14 and 15 that I still can’t quite wrap my head around at 25, but I think if I expect my students to be vulnerable, I can do just that by modeling it for them. And I more than needed the reminder that came from reading these essays that teaching is such an absolute privilege, no matter how trying some of my days may be.

Oh, and how about those ASTROS! 27 outs to earning history. This World Series run has been nothing short of thrilling, and it could not have come at a better time for this city. Just like Jose Altuve, I literally love Justin Verlander, and here’s to hoping he can seal the deal tomorrow night!