letters to my class

Dear Humans,

Over the first week of school we’ve been getting to know each other by sharing the three special items we’ve put in our sacks. We’ve seen family pictures, video game controllers, special rocks, stuffies, and toy cars. And you’ve done a great job explaining how each item represents you.

But remember that we can never fit our whole selves into a brown paper sack. This is just a glimpse. Plus, what’s in our sack now won’t always be there. Those sacks are open and they always will be. We take old things out and put new things in all the time.

So the best thing we can offer one another is patience and grace. We’re all changing and growing and figuring it out. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Humans see faces everywhere. Car headlights, tree trunks, clouds. Every once in a while you’ll read a news story about someone who saw the face of the Virgin Mary on their grilled cheese sandwich.

Because our brains are excellent pattern detectors. And faces are nothing but patterns. Eyes, nose, and mouth arrayed a certain way and POOF!–a unique individual. Move the nose down just a little bit, and you have a completely new person with a different set of dreams, fears, and quirks.

Today, we’re going to make faces out of non-face stuff. You will be shocked at how easy it is because you’ll tap into a skill you didn’t even know you had.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I’ve been teaching long enough to know that people don’t do the right thing just because they’re told. They do it because they were going to do it anyway or because it’s the normal and easy thing in that environment.

But convincing people to do right is really hard. And nothing is less convincing than rules. When I tell students to keep their desk orderly, their eyes glaze over; but if I tell them about that one time a student’s messy desk spontaneously combusted, they are mesmerized. 

Because we’re wired for stories. They’re how we make sense of the world. They’re how we figure out who we are. And if you get really good at telling them, you’ll have more power than all the rules in the world.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

I love first days because you can be relatively certain that everyone is wearing a clean shirt. Because come September, you’ll see me teaching some nonsense about how we’ll use prime numbers to communicate with extraterrestrials and you’ll think, “Didn’t he wear that shirt yesterday?” 

But it won’t matter by then because we’ll know one another so well that we’ll know the true selves hidden beneath the shirts (be they clean or dirty). And one reason we’ll know each other so well is because of the strong first impression we made back when we were wearing clean shirts.

First impressions matter. But they mostly matter in how they wipe themselves away and get washed into the ocean of true camaraderie.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Have you ever heard someone say “You’re putting the cart before the horse”? It means your priorities are backwards and thus ineffective, like trying to have a horse push a cart instead of pulling it.

In school, the cart is how well each of us does individually–what we learn, grades we get, stories we write, projects we create. And the horse is how well we get along with classmates. We learn from and with other humans, so treating them well matters. Otherwise, our cart is stuck in the muck.

Our carts are all on different paths, and in the future we’ll hitch them to different horses. But this year, we’re all yoked to the same beast. Let’s make sure that horse is moving. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

You’re not supposed to know the correct answer. When I ask a question that has an easy answer, it’s only to get your mind thinking about a more complex question that doesn’t.

Because there are only correct answers on worksheets–useful exercises, but far-removed from reality. And I’m not really interested in the answers on your worksheets, anyways; I’m interested in the process you used to get them.

Real life is messy. And all we can do is follow processes to get to solutions that are workable (until they fail and have to be reworked). So that’s what we try to learn to do in school–engage with the messy process of figuring things out.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

But when I look back at my life, I see my best days were full of waiting. Waiting in the pastor’s study at the church for my wedding to start. Waiting in the delivery room on the day my children were born. Waiting in line at Space Mountain.

Because waiting means you’re doing something important (and probably with important people). And if we remember that waiting is a part of the good stuff that’s coming, it’s not too bad at all.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

I love it when I walk out of the automatic doors of the grocery store, scan the parking lot, and immediately see my car. I make a beeline and start unloading my provisions.

But that only happens about half the time. The rest, I’m lost and wandering. Convinced I parked in one section, but not totally sure if that was this store trip or the last one. Finally I stumble upon it and think, “I parked here?”

We try to set goals in life and march towards them confidently, but life often feels more like the second scenario. Roaming around, looking for something, racked by uncertainty. And meanwhile, the Mint Chocolate Chip is melting in our cart.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

When I’m working with you on assignments, I notice that some of you are pencil-putter-downers. Between steps in a math problem, at the end of sentences, or between spelling words, you set your pencil down and take a breath. Others keep a tight grip on that yellow #2 for the entire math worksheet, the whole sudoku puzzle, or throughout the essay.

I’m in the second camp. And I’ve always thought it the best way to be–attacking, intense, and, perhaps, a bit hasty. But maybe there’s something to be said for setting down your pencil every once in a while. Perhaps the richest moments in life are in the pauses.

I’ll set down my pencil and give it a try.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt

Dear Humans,

Yesterday we learned about Henry VIII and his six wives. Three Catherines, two Annes, and one Jane. It might not be super important that you know the names of Henry VIII’s six wives, but I do poorly on Jeopardy questions about those six ladies, and I wanted to learn more.

And it seems that any specific moment in history has a way of teaching us about all of history. Because it’s not just about the personal lives of seven people; it’s about the reformation, the rise of the individual, and the move away from the divine right of kings. It’s about how power works and how power is contested.

And those things are just as relevant in 2024 as they were in 1500s England.

Sincerely,

Mr. Curt