Teachers, we GET to do this work.

A teacher I worked with many years ago died suddenly this past weekend. 

Kelli and I were far more colleagues than friends. We mostly lost touch after I left the school where we’d worked together. We’d talk whenever I had one of her students in a social group, and I heard from her a couple of times when there was news about my school. I was happy when I’d bump into her at Trader Joe’s. I’d think of Kelli every now and then (whenever someone uses the phrase “climbing the walls” for example… because as a young guidance counselor, I once got called to her class when a child was bringing that phrase to life in the school’s library), but mostly, as former colleagues do, Kelli faded into the background of my memory.

Then, she died. 

She hadn’t retired. Kelli was very much still a teacher. With students. In her fourth grade class. 

And somehow, while the loss feels a whole lot less personal than it must for my former colleagues who worked alongside her every day, it’s hit me right in the heart. 

Kelli wasn’t the smiliest teacher I’ve ever worked with, but damn, she was one of the most effective. Kelli was smart, driven, creative, and (a smidge) intense. She held her students, their parents, and her colleagues accountable. She taught directly from her gut. She expected kids to challenge themselves- so they did.  Kids respected her. They cared about what she thought. Years after students were in her class, I’d meet them as college students or as first year teachers, and they’d credit Kelli as inspiring them to become teachers themselves.  

Kelli understood her impact as a teacher. I’m not sure enough of us do. 

Being a teacher is not about making handouts that are worthy of Teachers-Pay-Teachers. It’s not about getting the report card comment exactly right. It’s not about collecting data or outperforming other teachers’ test scores. It has zero to do with “looking the part.” 

Being a teacher is knowing yourself and knowing your students- and trusting yourself to use all that you are to help your kids become all that they are. It’s sacred work. It’s work that Kelli did every single day. 

Teachers, the world is daring us to crumble under pressure right now. We are being taunted by bizarre expectations, tripped by circumstance, and tied down by the fallout of both. It would be so easy for us to pack up our LL Bean school bags and just never go back. But my God, what an opportunity we’d be walking away from- we help kids become all that they are. 

Kelli was a teacher who sometimes stepped outside of the expectations to teach how kids needed to be taught. We also need to trust ourselves to teach something off plan… from our gut.

Yesterday, with Kelli on my mind, I loaded my students into the school van and we went to a local senior housing complex to dig a bunch of cars out of the deep snow. Not because it would have mattered to Kelli- because it mattered to me. On the way back to school, I overheard one of my sixth graders say, “I’m all wet and cold. Usually I’d complain, but I’m not today. I think it’s because an old lady can drive her car now. I want to do that again.”

Our impact as teachers is huge. It matters. And we get to use it again today. 

I’m sad that Kelli had to leave so soon. I’m grateful that on her way out, she left a lingering lesson on how much being a teacher matters. 

Thank you, Kelli.