letters to my class

Dear Humans,

Most of the time in life you won’t know the answer. You won’t know exactly how to put together the bookshelf you buy, you won’t know exactly how to do the job you somehow got hired for, you won’t know the exact right words to say when your friend is going through a crisis.

And it’s frustrating because so many people claim they have the easy answers for us, and they’re available for 3 easy payments. But we quickly find that those things don’t work as promised, and we’re a little poorer and a little more embarrassed. 

Because life is figuring stuff out. And sometimes we only find a way that works after we’ve tried seemingly every way that doesn’t. And about the time we think we start to figure something out, a new challenge arrives, as if handed down from the heavens, and we’re back to where we started.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I remember nine years ago when it was 12/12/12. And I even remember the minute that it was 12:12:12 on the 12th day of the 12th month of the 12th year of the millennium. And at the time I thought it was a pretty big deal.

But now I’m learning that this entire week the dates have been palindromes–the same forward and backwards, such as 12-9-21. And the second day of December the date was even an ambigram–the same upside down as right side up (in digital numbers).

And while these coincidences are pretty cool, they’re not actually as rare as I once believed. And the reason is simple: humans are always taking delight in finding patterns in the world. It’s what we do. And it says a whole lot more about how our human minds work than any sort of hidden messages out there in the world.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

On Monday morning I arrange a beautiful bouquet of freshly-sharpened pencils, standing tall with their perfect points and pristine, bright pink erasers, wafting the sweet smell of cedar through the room.

And by Tuesday afternoon the cup is in all sorts of disarray: stubby pencils with dull points, erasers worn down to the ferrule, and the smell completely gone or covered up. 

But as much as I like the look of the Monday morning pencil cup, there’s something to be said for the spent potential in the Tuesday afternoon cup. Because though some of you sharpen pencils way more you need to, most of those pencil inches went towards something good: writing sentences about your life or the life you want, solving math problems that uncrack the mysteries of nature’s patterns, or recording observations that make you say “wow” in science class.

And that makes me like the Tuesday afternoon pencil cup a little more.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curtt

Dear Humans,

Our whole world is built on trust. When I stop at a red light, I have to trust that the person behind me driving that two ton hunk of metal at 45 miles per hour will also stop. When I get my Junior Bacon Cheeseburger, I have to trust that Wendy’s followed the safety procedures and washed their hands. When I hire a babysitter for my children, I have to trust that they won’t teach them too many bad words.

And it’s kind of a scary thing. Because we’re at the mercy of other people. And we can’t always be in control. 

Skepticism is good. We always want to hold people and systems accountable and try to make things better. But when it turns into cynicism, when we withhold our trust just so other people can’t ever hurt us, then we’ll find that all of our wounds are self-inflicted. And those ones hurt way, way more.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I was pushing pizza dough into a pan this weekend, and, because my hands were covered with cooking spray, I couldn’t get the lid off the jar of pizza sauce. So I silently held the jar out to my sister-in-law who was at the counter, and, without a word, she twisted the lid off and handed it back to me.

Researchers know that most human communication happens through how we say things or body language, but very little is communicated in the actual words we say.

We might not need words to get through our day-to-day lives, but they sure do help make those lives meaningful. Words are for singing and rhyming and telling jokes and cracking open the big ideas that turn our days into lives and connect those lives to the lives of all the other humans wordlessly going about their daily existence.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I have bookshelves full of cookbooks. Probably dozens. And each one holds hundreds of recipes. And occasionally I’ll look through the colorful, glossy photos of extravagant and healthy meals that I could make. And sometimes when I’m making my grocery list, I’ll convince myself that I’m the type of person who could make those kinds of dishes. 

But when it comes time to actually create a meal that I will feed to my family on a Wednesday evening, I pretty much always make the same small number of things. Because they’re easy. Because I’ve made them a million times before. And because–though they might not taste great–I know they won’t taste bad.

Change is hard. And change comes slow. But the cookbooks are still there on the shelves. Little kernels of hope.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

The best gift someone can give you is their trust. I tell you all the time: adults want to trust you. Your families, your teachers, and society at large all want you to make your own decisions and become independent people. The whole point of childhood is learning and practicing how to do just that thing.

Because human beings are made for freedom. But we also have responsibilities. And the purpose of that freedom is so we can find our own best ways to uphold those responsibilities to other people.

But if you fail to uphold your responsibilities, there will usually be someone there to hold you accountable. And as you get older, those people are a whole lot meaner than your schoolteachers, and the consequences are a whole lot more serious than recess detention.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

As a kid I spent a lot of time thumbing through football cards. And those football cards–tiny little books full of information–told me almost everything I needed to know about a football player: their position, their height and weight, their statistics, and where they went to college. 

Because each season has over a thousand players making tens of thousands of plays, and the only way to be able to make any sense of it all is to break it down into the important parts.

We do the same thing as scientists. We know things in the world by their properties. By their shape and color and mass and density and many, many others. This not only allows us to see things and know things (even when they’re hiding), but to communicate with others about this shared reality we call life.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

One of the best things about getting older is that you get to watch documentaries about events that happened during your lifetime. And then you think back on your own memories of these events and compare it to the historical record and you think, “My memory of this is completely wrong!” And, “Did we really dress like that?”

Because we’re just one set of eyes among billions. That doesn’t mean our own experience is worthless. I remember what it felt like to sit in my dorm room and watch news coverage on September 11, 2001, and that’s a valid experience. But it’s only meaningful if I connect it to the experiences of other people in other places. And that’s what history–the combination of many perspectives of the past–allows us to do.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

“You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” That phrase has probably been around for a long time, but I first heard it when I was working in a school. One kid said it to another kid who had his heart set on a grape ice pop but got lime. And I thought, “Wow! That’s some wisdom right there!” 

Because most of what we get in life–like that lime ice pop–is a gift. And gifts are different from rewards or exchanges because gifts have nothing at all to do with what we deserve. Gifts are given freely out of kindness, and that’s how they should be received.

And the great thing about gifts is that the world is full of them. They’re everywhere, if we keep our curious eyes and grateful hands open and our complaining mouths closed.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt