Letters to the editor
To the teachers of my children,
With reluctance, fear and little trust, I handed my children over to you 7 years ago. You took their hands and I let go.
You seated them by their first school friend, now best friend, soon life time friend.
You started with the letter 's' for school. Way too fast for my liking, you were onto the letter o, then p, then e, then n. Put them all together and my children were reading. Dairy Queen is still OPEN! I cursed you for every pound I gained from late night DQ Blizzards!
You moved onto writing. I cried my heart out with my first 'I love you mom' Mother's Day card, touched by my children's painted hands.
You were funny and made my children laugh. I tried some of your jokes and techniques. I was told to 'give up already'. You are beauty inside and out. Instantly, we fell in love, with you. You made pink and glitter cool at any and every age. You inspired our style to a whole new level and my credit card suffered.
In my darkest days, you let me cry at your little table at the back. You said, don't worry about the kids. I will take good care of them. You shared my burden, eased my load.
For Halloween, my child wanted to dress as Hitler. You shared your personal Remembrance Day story. My child will never dress as Hitler. There was not a dry eye at the dinner table when he shared your story.
You sent home the recorder.....not once but twice. My ears still hurt. I could only handle 5 minutes a night. You listened over and over every week multiplied by 60, 70, 80? I lose track, you don't.
You have your own show at my dining table, 'Guess what Mr. S said today?' It really pisses me off when food comes out our noses! You made my children wish that more men were like you!
While you taught long division, everything in cursive, underlined in red, reach for the stars, outside the box, lit a little fire under their bottoms, they learned that when there was no one else, you would be there. You gave my children the courage to stand up for themselves.
I have only met some of my children's teachers. The ones that are yet to come, keep them guessing, debating and wondering what the Halloween theme will be this year and next. Your coolness has no limits. They want to join band and play the trumpet....just like at minor hockey games. This time, only on my side. They fear provincials and the real world but I'm not worried. You've got it covered!
You taught my children all the easy stuff from a is for apple to reading, writing, math, anti bullying, donating, sharing, accepting, life cycles, circuits, the human body, pioneers, Canada and gratitude. You even taught the really hard stuff like puberty, deodorant, menstruation, erection, STD's, bad breath and circumcision. Me, well I'm turning red just typing!
And if that isn't enough to grant a summer off, I don't know what is!
Every June, you give them back to me. By July 5th, I secretly and silently start praying for September because I cannot handle another fight, argument or complaint. As I pray, I give one the TV remote and the other the PS4.
Your job is to educate my children. You raised my children! And for that, I thank you and my children thank you, today and forever.
I encourage every parent to stand up for public education in British Columbia because like you, I cannot afford private education.
I am a parent.
I am a child of two, illiterate immigrants.
I am a teacher because once upon a time, a teacher taught me, 'a' is for apple.
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