letters to my class

Dear Humans,

This world offers us lots of shortcuts. Just ask ChatGPT or Alexa or Siri. Don’t work hard and get a job–AI’s gonna take them all anyways!–become an influencer and post something that goes viral. Hit the parlay. Get the big score. To do the hard work of learning things, this world tells us, is for suckers. 

But I assure you it’s not. Some days it’s hard to envision much of a future, but if we have any hope for one, we’re going to need people who know things. Things like multiplication tables, names on the map, dates and facts of history. Things you learn from reading books. Not so we can compete against the machines, but because learning those things makes us more human.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Be like Prometheus. When Zeus was gonna get rid of humankind, Prometheus stole fire from Mount Olympus and handed it to us. After that we could see the truth of the world and become scientists, artists, and full humans. (He was pretty famously punished for it, however!)

We freely hand out knowledge at school, but there’s stuff we keep hidden. We teach you to walk in line, but we don’t tell you all the lines you’ll be walking in out in the real world. We teach you to read the words, but we don’t tell you how people use those words to get you to believe things that aren’t true. That is knowledge that you’re gonna have to take for yourself.

Because the truths of this world can only be seen by the light of stolen fire.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

A law of statistics is regression to the mean. A law of nature is homeostasis. A law of water flow is that it always finds the lowest point and spreads out. The world seeks balance. Nature works hard to keep us from the extremes.

And a law of this human life is that it’s hard to have two bad days in a row. (But it’s also hard to have two really great days in a row.) We live in a world of do-overs. Sunrise on a new day. A chance to do it better.

But you’ve got to keep getting out of bed. Keep rising to meet the day. Keep giving each day the chance to surprise you (or humble you).

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Last weekend we had college hunks haul away some of our junk. Which is funny because when we bought the stuff not too many years ago, it was far from junk; it was useful, beautiful, clean stuff. 

And I don’t think it was just time and wear and tear that turned it into junk. It really only became junk once we bought new stuff to replace it. And that new stuff said, “You’re junk! Get out of here.”

But there is some stuff in our house that’s seen it all. Some real wise stuff. Stuff that’s been handed down to us and stuff that we’ll hand down. And that stuff doesn’t say much, but if it did, it’d tell the new stuff, “You’ll be junk too someday. Just you wait.”

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

We’re learning how to write informative essays and I made a poster of the rules of writing an informative essay. One of the rules is that informative essays are written in the 3rd person.

But last week we were writing informative essays about an object that is important to us and we quickly realized that if we didn’t use I, me, mine in the essays that we would sound insane. So I added some parentheses after the fourth rule of informative writing–“Write in the 3rd person”–that said “(most of the time).”

And most of the time, most of the rules have that same parenthetical coming after them. Because some of time the only real way to follow a rule is to break it.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I’ve been thinking about welcome mats lately. Whether they’re snarky or funny, simple or over-the-top decorative, welcome mats say two things at the same time. They don’t just say, “Welcome, we’re glad you’re here.” They also say, “But please, before you come in, wipe your feet. It’s a rough and muddy world out there.”

The welcome mat reminds us that the host has responsibilities to the visitor–offer us some water, a place to sit, some mildly interesting conversation. But as visitors we have some responsibilities too–mind our manners, take what is offered, and wipe our feet.

The welcome mat knows this and gently reminds us of it–just sitting there, minding its own business. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Sometimes in schools we treat you as human becomings rather than human beings. As not-yet-adults who always have to get ready for the next standard, the next grade, college, and career. We talk about continual improvement and growth and leveling-up.

And those things are all important. But it’s also important that sometimes we remind you that you’re already good enough. Because though it’s true that your brains are not yet fully-developed and you will change a lot over time, there’s also a lot of you that will stay the same. 

So strive, get better, improve. But do it to be a better version of the you that you’ve always been and always will be. Not some future you that you can’t even recognize.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

There comes a time each year where I start birdwalking–teaching off topic–about the internal combustion engine. We’re learning about natural resources, and I start blathering about sparks, fuel, explosions, pistons, and the mechanical energy that got you to school.

I’m the worst person in the world to talk about internal combustion engines because I have to look in my owner’s manual to fill up with gas. But one time I saw a diagram of the internal combustion engine in a textbook and it left me mesmerized.

Humans come up with some smart stuff! And then other humans come along and make it even better. That’s the beginning and end of basically all we learn in school. So I guess it’s not too far off topic.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Sometimes when I’m driving out and about I find myself quietly rooting on my fellow humans. When they’re trying to parallel park in a tight spot–“You got this, buddy!” Or when a kid pops and rides a wheelie–“Yes! Excellent!”

Now, I admit that sometimes I say these words sarcastically–“Nice job passing on the right, bozo!” But for the most part I mean them sincerely. And I also know that my quiet words don’t really accomplish anything. They can’t hear them. They don’t see me. 

But something I know even more deeply is that we could all use a few more people cheering us on as we take on this high-wire act of everyday living.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I told my daughter that personal reading should take precedence over schoolwork. Not finishing your homework because you were staying up late finishing a book is the ultimate academic flex.

Because when you’re in college or life, people won’t care what you scored on some test many years ago; but they might care that you’ve read a lot of John Steinbeck books. Because you don’t carry that old test around with you in your head. But you will carry around scenes, lines, and sheet-metal memories of Cannery Row. 

Reading old books (and new ones), watching weird movies, writing stories and poems that no one ever reads, having deep (and dumb) conversations with friends–that’s how you really learn about this world and form a mind that’s prepared to take it on.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt