Dear 4th Grade Teacher,
There’s nothing particularly significant about 4th grade that makes a teacher extraordinary. Whether it’s learning letters or how to read, every elementary grade is packed full of its own set of challenges.
However, there is something extraordinary about this specific 4th grade teacher. I won’t name her because she already knows her name, and so does he. He’ll never forget it. She changed his life, and here’s how.
His hearing loss started early. After two surgeries, doctors determined he had 95% hearing loss in his left ear. He was an obedient child who didn’t demand to be seen or heard. He learned to overcompensate for his hearing loss by pretending to understand. He could fake out any teacher with a couple of nods during circle time. But then 4th grade happened. The day he met a modern day version of Anne Sullivan all fake nods were off.
If she’s reading this, she’ll shrug off her miracle work with the wave of a hand, “Oh goodness, I didn’t do anything special at all.” That’s what all extraordinary teachers say, and she’s probably right.
There’s nothing remarkable about leaning in close to a kid with severe hearing loss and whispering in his good ear, “Nope, don’t just nod and tell me you understand. In your own words, repeat back what I just said.”
And it’s fairly common for a nine year old, reluctant reader to come home and say the worst part of his day was when they called for car riders because he knew his teacher was going to stop reading aloud, close the book, and he would have to wait until tomorrow to find out what was going to happen to Teddy Bodain.
And she’s right. There was nothing unique about the red and green icing they used to decorate gingerbread cowboy ornaments at Christmas. They proudly hung them on the artificial branches, but there was nothing artificial about the gift- wrapped box of confidence she had slowly and quietly been sewing together over the last eighteen weeks. That gift of confidence led to his competence, and it will continue to grow each year of his academic career so much so that it will shatter the glass ceiling of every lie he believed prior to meeting her. It will shape the trajectory of his entire life, which, as anyone knows, is really no big deal.
Then the pandemic came. And that’s when her teaching became super, super ordinary. Despite the fact that she was caring for her husband whose cancer treatments had been postponed due to COVID cases taking medical priority, she rose each morning with a smile on her face and tapped into the virtual world of her students. Bedhead and all, she reached her magical hands through cyberspace and did what she does best: loves kids well, calms their nerves, turns up the volume for the boy with hearing loss, and tells them if Teddy Bodain can make it 1,000 miles, they can too.
Prior to writing this letter, I embarrassingly thought Teddy Bodain was a boy. Turns out she was a girl whose family joined a wagon train and made a 1,000 mile trek from Mississippi to Florida in the 1800s. The entire book is a series of letters from Teddy to her good friend, Martha telling her about her travel adventures.
Reading the poignant description of the book caused me to reflect. “This book is a tale of history, family, and friendship as the Bodains seek a happy future, but nothing is certain when crossing such dangerous and unfamiliar territory.”
Could any description be a more accurate portrayal of a teacher’s journey this year? We are truly telling a tale of history, friendship, and family while navigating frightening and unfamiliar territory.
I now want to read Teddy Bodain to see how her journey finishes. Maybe it will foreshadow ours as well, but until then, here is my letter to my good friend thanking her for being so ordinary.
I hope this letter finds you well and helps you see what you do is no small thing, and if you ever doubt it, will you read this letter again to be reminded?
-CDB