Dear Teacher Turned Counselor,
This week is guidance counselor appreciation week. Truthfully, it should be renamed Unsung Heroes’ Week. I’ll never understand why the people doing the hardest and most noble work fly under the radar.
Guidance counselors, grief counselors, teacher counselors, custodians operating in the capacity of a counselor, any person who has offered any form of counseling this year is a hero with a capital “H.”
I love what Mr. Rogers said about heroes. “When I was very young, most of my childhood heroes wore capes, flew through the air, or picked up buildings with one arm. They were spectacular and got a lot of attention. But as I grew, my heroes changed. Now I can honestly say anyone who does anything to help a child is a hero to me.”
I agree, Mr. Rogers. Most of the counselors I know are just like Clark Kent or Peter Parker. They look and act like normal people until a need arises. Then they transform into something else entirely, and nobody really knows where they came from or where they are headed next.
Grief counselors linger in hallways and swoop in when a young girl begins to sob uncontrollably because her parents lost their jobs due to COVID. Nobody really knows what the counselor said or did, but the next day a teacher reports a flicker of glimmering hope replaces the hollow look of defeat on the young girl’s face.
Guidance counselors visit homes with Thanksgiving baskets for those in need. They organize schedules, crunch numbers on GPA’s, tally credits, write letters of recommendation, and find scholarships for people who are left-handed, lost a dog, or had a step-cousin’s uncle who fought in the Korean War.
They do all of this without fanfare or recognition, and that in itself if the very definition of a hero.
In May, guidance counselors all over the country will lay out diplomas and medals to be placed around the necks of students who have excelled.
After the awards ceremony, they’ll go home and slip off their pearls and heels, but they won’t strip off sashes, honor cords, or medals. They won’t place trophies on their shelves or hang plaques on a wall, nor will they hold a big check for a photo opportunity. They’ll casually drift off to sleep without anyone noticing the inconspicuous cape hiding in the closet.
The next day they will shake out the wrinkles, drape themselves in service, and head out to quietly save another wayward soul.
When questioned, they'll deny it, but we'll still ask, "Are you an angel disguised as a human?"
-CDB