Teaching

An Open Letter To My Students

To my amazing choir students:

When this school year began, I told you that I hoped this year would be epic. I encouraged the 2020 Seniors to leave a legacy. I wanted this year to be one to remember. 

Well, kids.. this is not at ALL what I imagined! From the very start, this year has been crazy! We are now in the middle of something none of us have ever experienced. Who would have ever dreamed that we would be living in a world where “Social Distancing” was a requirement? Or a place where the school year could just disappear without a trace? The world has seriously turned upside down!

I know that the activities that I have assigned are enrichment and you are under no obligation to complete them. However, I am SO grateful for those of you who have. Interacting with you and reading your words has been such an encouragement to me. Keep working hard, and thinking, and dreaming. 

I hope that some of you will take me up on the assignment to make one big virtual concert. I know it’s a little scary to sing by yourselves… to put yourself out there without the help of our choir family to support you. But… think of what a treasure it will be to look back on and remember some day! It will be a time capsule full of your faces and voices.

You guys… I am just so sad and sorry for all the plans we had that will never come to be. I’m sorry that we will never get to sing our hearts out with the Glee music we ordered. (I was really looking forward to Tyleigh rocking some Gaga!) I’m sorry that we won’t get to do our silly in-class award show and laugh together. I’m sorry that we will never get to honor you, Seniors, and thank you for everything you have done to make the choir great. I’m sorry that you won’t get to write in the Senior Book, or cry your eyes out during the slide show, or give one final group hug, or sing one last song at graduation. I’m sorry that we’ll never get to sing at the Statue of Liberty, or see Dear Evan Hansen, or gaze from the top of the Empire State Building together. I’m just sorry that I can’t make good on all the things I had dreamed for you.

If I had known that March 16th was the last day we would all sing together as a family, I would have listened harder. I would have soaked it in and not tried to find what to fix tomorrow. I would have held your hands and just embraced the feeling of our hearts beating in time to the music. I would have memorized the joy of singing coming from your faces.

You are always on my mind. I wonder each day if you are safe… if you are eating enough… if you are taking good care of yourself… if you are making good choices. I hope that someone has told you each day that you are loved… that you are important… that you are amazing exactly the way you are. I have you in my heart and I am praying for you.

I just hope you know how much each one of you means to me. You are my “kids.” You are the people that I wake up and spend most of my day with. Your smiles make my heart happy. All of you bring me such joy during the years that you are part of this choir family! You are the handprints on my heart. I promise, just because I can’t see you, or sing with you, or smile at you… it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.

No matter what… I want you to know. You are NOT forgotten. You have NOT disappeared. You MATTER to me. YOU WILL BE FOUND. And most of all you will ALWAYS have a HOME in the choir room. 

Be brave, my loves.

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