I am so sorry Harry, that is has been so long since our last chat. This spring was one filled with so much that I let our conversations slide. I bottled up everything and even though there were many evenings where I simply stared at the tv and had ample time to write, I found I couldn't even pick up a pen. Once the daily grind of classroom bells and tutorials had faded, I continue to struggle with sharing. Daily I would think, I have to tell Harry about that, but I never followed through. It took me many months to name the funk that restrained me, but today, I finally opened the computer. I heard a quote from the writers of Mike and Molly. It said, "Don't write what you know, write what you don't want people to know."
I sent the letter below earlier in the summer. I debated for several weeks as to whether or not to publish it in this format. I write about pride, joy, sorrow and disgust. Weird, I know, but they can all be inside you at the same time. It also shows a side of me that I am not very proud. The side that can be hateful and spiteful. The kids call it my "grrr" face. It's the side of me that doesn't want to see the other side of things. The side of me that doesn't want to turn the other cheek or give the benefit of the doubt. Those times when doing the right thing is so painful that it makes you physically ill. I had so many of those moments this year.
All spring I was faced with situations where the right thing was not necessarily the best thing for me. I had to sacrifice my pride and smile when inside the beasts were nashing their sharp teeth and tearing with sharp claws. My professionalism was tested almost on a daily basis. My neighbor and I formed a justice league. Those that followed the rules and persevered even when everything around them was falling apart and everyone was giving in to societal pressures, following the path of least resistance. Without her strength, I am certain that the beast would not have been satisfied with imaginary ranting. I learned many lessons from her this year in patience and tact. The letter; however, is not my best writing, but it is my real feelings. Will the sending of it do my daughter or any other student any good? Probably not, but it took me these past weeks to realize that it wasn't for them. It was for me. I had silenced my voice all year and this, this was the straw. I needed me to be heard. Not for justice or for right, but just for the simple and plain conclusion many of us reach. Our voice must be shared in some form, whether it be spoken or the written word.
Dear Principal,
Four years ago, as my daughter began high school; she put a list of goals on the refrigerator. These goals included things like “Go to State Meet for UIL” and “Go to state for band”. Every year, she would check something off. Her dedication, determination and sometimes, pure grit, were nothing short of beautiful. There was one goal that could not be achieved though until her senior year, Valedictorian.
Each year, I came to you with questions and concerns about her schedule. One year, we learned you did not offer PAP Spanish to freshmen. Another year, well a couple of years, there was a conflict with band so she missed out on PAP Historys. This year the schedule had two AP senior classes at the same time.
I recall when I came to you after her freshmen year vividly. I was concerned because yet again schedule conflicts going into sophomore year were holding her back. I shared with you my daughter’s goals, including Valedictorian. You chuckled and said, “Well, that’s a lofty goal, but that might be setting yourself up for failure.” It took pretty much all of my professional training not to scream at you, “You don’t even know who my daughter is, do you?” I didn’t though. I smiled and thought how sad it was that a principal didn’t know his students, especially when this student, as a freshman, had been in the paper for her achievements at his high school 3 times. By her senior year, you had finally figured out who she was though and now her mentions for your school in the paper have multiplied. She has put your school in the paper more times than your athletics combined.
You know this now, but let me tell you some things you didn’t. You didn’t know how during her senior year, she’s held 3 jobs and volunteered at a soup kitchen. One of those jobs is tutoring a young girl in mathematics. She takes her brother to karate on Monday’s when I can’t. She randomly brings me my favorite Diet Coke with Sonic ice on days I have to work late. She feels bad that she won’t be here next year, so she keeps taking her brothers and sister out randomly like she’s trying to store up the memories to hold her over till she’s home again.
Through it all she’s hit achievement after achievement. Her grade point average has steadily climbed and yet, consistently, she has sat at #2. Not by deed, but by schedule conflict. Each year, you’d pat me on the head and shuffle my concerns under the rug, while my daughter continued to fight for her goals. Each year, you told me it would all work out. Each year, her light shined brighter and brighter for you and your school.
I am not sure if you can begin to understand how proud I am of my daughter, sir. I know you are a father, so I want to believe that you can. You stood next to her in front of your school board just a few weeks ago as she received yet again, award after award. You smiled for the camera and shook her hand. Even now, she’s not done, as she has a state band and state UIL competition still to go before graduation.
Earlier this week, I learned that her goal of becoming Valedictorian would not come true. Notice I have never called it a dream. A dream is something that may or may not be attainable, it has a fuzzy feeling and a wispy connotation, but a goal, a goal is something you work for, strive for, and bleed for, if necessary. My daughter did all of those things. She did it with character, grace and more understanding than her mother when you swept away my concerns.
In the long run, will her ranking in high school matter? Absolutely not. Has her ranking cost her the university she wants to attend? No, and to be honest, her scholarship was awarded before the rankings were announced. My cup runneth over as they say, but it has cost her and it has devalued something I was not ready for her to lose. As a mother, it is my duty, my pleasure, and my responsibility to protect my children from the evils of the world, from monsters under the bed to bullies on the playground. As her mother, I was not ready for her to realize that sometimes, even when you have given it everything you have, you still lose. I was not prepared for her to learn that life is rarely fair, that most days the guy doesn’t get the girl, the damsel in distress usually saves herself and what’s right, what’s just, usually loses to what’s profitable.
I knew that these lessons were not far off as on August 19th, I will officially leave my child behind in her brand new, well slightly used, dorm room. From that moment on, my protection privileges change. Now, I become a bystander in her life and all I can do is support her through the trials, but I had hoped that before that day came, her fairy tale view of the world would not have to be tarnished.
I gave her the you did the best you can speech and for her part, I think she’s content. At least, I hope she is, but my heart aches for her and my conscience is not quite clear as I wonder is there more I could have done for her. Could I have fought you any harder on those schedule changes, sir? Should I have taken it to the next level? We shall never know. I do know that she is better than me and even though the fairy tale is tarnished, her light is not.
I wish you well, sir, and moving forward, my hopes for this letter are simple. I hope it helps me to forgive us both for whatever wrongs real or imaginary we have done to her and I hope that the next time a parent comes to you with their bright light, that you will pause for just a second before you laugh off their concerns.
God speed, sir, may your travels be calm and swift.
As always, with love to you Harry, from East Texas
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