Learning by the Letter

Joelle K. Jay
Doctoral student in Teacher Education, University of Washington

"n Honors English, you treat us like we’re something special, like we’re gonna go and do something. In regular English, you treated us like crap."

That was the most biting criticism I’ve ever earned. And I can tell you that it hurt. I recoiled from that letter in shock, and then snuck my eyes back up on it to read the line again. Me? Treated students "like crap?" But I’d worked so hard to listen and understand; I’d helped start the mentor program at our school; I'd created a system and invited students to write letters like this one so that I could be aware of their needs and thoughts and so that students could share their feelings about life, school, themselves, and me. Also, I wanted to hear those needs and help them, but I never wanted to feel like this! Jake’s letter reached out and bit me.

It was a treasure.

I know that now. At the time however, Jake’s words stung. They confused me, and I wanted to throw that letter away and forget about it for the way that it had exposed hypocrisy in myself that I hadn’t seen nor wanted to admit. But the truth was that out of all of the reasons I’d invited students to write letters to me, Jake had given me just what I’d asked for: the truth. And when the shock wore off, I faced those words faced myself, and tried to see what he saw. Jake’s impression became a part of my past and helped define who I’d become. His letter changed me, I hope, into someone more loving, more fair, more accepting, and more aware.

Letters like Jake’s remind me those students have so much to teach that’s mine for the learning. So I ask. I ask in person, and I ask in class, but the way I find most enlightening is to ask in writing. These letters take various forms throughout the year: some are structured with questions or prompts, some respond to the request, some "tell me anything I’d like me to know;" still others just appear on my desk. In their letters, students help me with the odds and ends of teaching and ask about the ins and outs of learning. They share what’s in their heads and in their hearts. And though they vary and contradict each other, warm my heart and chill my soul, the responses I get are my best education. Through their letters, students transform my teaching.

There are personal touches that show me the bright side of teenage life. Through these letters, I knew about the black belt competition, the poem that won four contests, the teenage d.j. on the local morning show, and the band Low Culture, whose lead singer wrote, "When we get famous you can say, ‘Hey, I know the lead singer. She was a student of mine!’"

And there are private moments that expose the underbelly of students’ lives, which otherwise, I might not see.

"So I lived with my aunt in Oregon for a year and she home-schooled me there, but we never really did any English."

"My only means of transportation is my dad’s old beat up truck and when it dies I have no way to get to school."

"My mom is going to have surgery this Friday and that’s going to determine whether or not she has breast cancer."

When letters share such details of teenage life, I am reminded of the need for human compassion and sensitivity; their authors are not just students in my class, but they are people with complex lives.

It’s not that every letter reveals some personal insight. Some are very practical. Through students’ letters, I learned not to talk too fast, which new books we needed on the shelf, and how much my personal and detailed responses to their writing really mean. They tell me what teachers should remember about kids, that they love to compete, hate to take notes, and don’t want to write unless they care. Some letters tell me what works.

"Having the...drafts...helped me because I can get the paper back and work on it again."

"I like to work at our own pace and read books we wanted to."

"The creative writing...made me feel like one of those really cool poets!"

Other letters tell me what doesn’t.

"Writing a good paper takes more than a week."

"We need more comfortable seats."

Still others tell me how to be.

"I’m glad that we have conferences with you because that made me get my act together."

"I respected you for being honest with us."

"I appreciate that it matters to you what we think."

Letters reveal what kids think is important. They confirm for me again and again that sometimes, kids do know best.

There are letters that change kids’ lives. One letter was an S.O.S. to me crying out from the very back row: "I have never met a teacher I liked me and teachers don’t mesh well because even though I tried to do things I always barely pass If I even do." The painstaking characters of the scrawl held the code that, when cracked, finally got this ninth grader the attention he needed. The fact that Marty never turned anything in was taken as a capable student’s laziness for all of his middle school years; only when he finally turned in this plea did the learning disability show its face. A similar tragedy was avoided with the quiet explanation of a boy in the very next class: "When I don’t understand, I don’t do." Those simple words told me that what looked like attitude when Scott didn’t do his work was merely a need for more help. I wonder how the year would have been different if it hadn’t been for his note.

Then there are the letters that changed my life. During one confusing year, I felt I’d failed to inspire the most brilliant poet I knew, even though I tried what felt like so many ways to reach her. Her letter to me revealed why. Lisa wrote of feeling like an outsider, and her classmates and I were the cause: "You couldn’t understand how I had the friends I have, dress the way I do, showed up at class with a ring in my eyebrow, yet despite the image, I still ended up in your class.... I felt like you’d look at everyone else normal, then look at me and try to figure me out." Dismayed by her interpretation, I picked up my pen and wrote back. I wrote about my friends with rings in brows, their bellies, their tongues and their noses, and my crazy friends that dress all out of this world. I wrote my appreciation for her originality, her personality, and the wisdom beyond her years. I wrote what it was that I couldn’t figure out–that the look on my face when I looked at her was a silent appeal to speak up. She had thoughts and ideas that no one else did and unique perspectives to share; all I wanted was for her to join in.

The letter I got back read, "I’d like to make up for lost time."

Lisa and I learned about each other. I learned that even when you feel like you do your best for students–when you love them, reach out to them, and do everything you think you can for them, they could still misread you and feel alienated and alone like the underdog student in an authoritarian world. Lisa learned to relax her defenses, to be open to the friendship, and respect what others offer, even when surprised by the source. Even now, we write about books and poems; I share my love of Shakespeare and she shares her take on "Howl." And rather than the pinch of regret that remains when a student leaves my class untouched, I have left that class with a friend.

Throughout, there are the letters that sustain me. They show me what kids value and take pride in, and they remind me of what teaching can do.

"You treated me like a ‘young woman’ and not a little girl.... That means more to me than you know."

"I never did like Shakespeare before. You could just say his name and I would gag. But thanks to you, I like Shakespeare."

"I remember you said ‘the world needs more Jason Squires.’ Well, Mrs. Jay, the world needs more Mrs. Jays."

In the emotional hurricane that surrounds the life of a teacher, letters like these are the calming breezes. They’ve grounded me, rooted me, nourished me, and reminded me that the effort to grow in response to students’ needs is worth the energy it takes.

Letters are an avenue for students to take toward human connection in moods of highest highs and lowest lows– palpable moods that wish to speak. They speak of divorce, break-ups, home lives, triumphs over drugs, medical problems, friendships, heartache, new baby brothers, dreams for the future, uncertainty, newness, just having moved, going to move, wish I could move, simple concerns, soul-searching questions and thoughts from teenagers’ hearts. These words and phrases, scratched in pencil or drawn and decorated in colored pens, nurture compassion. They help me understand a side of teaching that I never learned in school. They remind me that there are some things more important than English class, like personal realities and the journey through life.

I can’t know these things from looking at students or even talking to them. Some students simply won’t reveal in person what’s behind their mask. But in writing, students take the risk. Some of them leave that mask on their face as they write, leaving off names, making private delivery, and exposing their thoughts and feelings while remaining unseen themselves. Others tear that mask off and shout, "This is who I am!" in a voice they can write, but not speak. And some whisper, like a secret, for only me to hear. In letters, students escape convention and find safety in a friend, a confidant, and a mentor: in a teacher.

I moved away myself, last year, far away from those students that I’d cross in the supermarket or bump into in the halls of the high school. In the mailbox this week, I found an envelope with big letters on the back. "Mrs. Jay! Did I surprise you?!" And as I read about Elizabeth’s college plans, the school musical, her Saturday job, and her memories of acting Tiresias in our classroom play, I was proud, and I laughed. And I was touched when I read these lines: "Four years ago, you sat on your desk and gave us a long talk..." I remember the day I spoke from the heart about life and what was important to me, about how people should treat each other and themselves. Elizabeth wrote, "That talk really meant a lot to me, and made quite an impression on my young heart, and has been what I’ve always tried to do." With those words, Elizabeth reminded me why I always had students write those letters. Teachers and students have a way of changing each other’s lives.

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