Dear Teacher in March,
March. We need to talk. What you did to us last year was so uncool. In fact, it was beyond uncool. It was triple revenge, cruelty on steroids.
I’ve held back on telling you how I really feel because I don’t want you to pull another stunt like you did a year ago. However, the time has come to speak my mind.
When my mom loses her temper we call it going Charleston. Contrary to what one might think, her breaking point has nothing to do with the signature dance of the 20s and everything to do with a rainy cold, Valentine’s night in Charleston, SC, when we got lost on foot and every restaurant in town refused to serve a pack of wet muskrats from Brewton, AL.
All of this to say, if I could go Charleston on March this is what I would say.
March, you’re the sweet spot for teachers. It’s where we reap the benefits of all the effort we’ve put in since August. It’s the time of year where the little learners in our care almost become people. You robbed us of that, and yes, I’m still mad at you. March is baseball, March Madness, track, ice cream cones, picnics in the park, spring weather, Easter, and flowers. It’s sunshine and fresh new sunburns. It’s sand so white even the ocean needs Costa’s.
It’s not fear and death tolls mixed with cold takeout food or rationed toilet paper and price gouging masks and hand sanitizer. What you did to us was plain wrong. You looked so pretty yet acted so mean. I’m going to level with you. None of us trust you. You’re worse than a bad ex-boyfriend, back hair, a pesky cold sore, or food poisoning. You think it’s gone, but it keeps coming back.
Those young kids with school goody bags, bulky laptops, and drive thru boxed lunches dang near tore my heart in two. Lonely kids at home fearing they would kill their own grandparents or wondering if they would have a graduation ceremony left me mad at you in ways I cannot fully articulate. March, you were cruel…so very cruel, and no it wasn’t just you. April and May didn’t play nicely either, but you started it.
Some say we had an extra long spring break. None of these people are teachers. Teachers know it was far from a break. There were Zoom meetings every day along with the daily chore of tracking down students for whatever learning was possible coupled with the emotional trauma of having our worlds turned upside down in an instant.
Against our better judgment, we’re going to give you another chance. We are teachers. It’s part of our DNA to grant grace to the unlovable. But let me warn you, if you slip up even a hair, you can forget being the most loved month on the calendar. Understood?
-CDB
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