A former student found his sixth grade writing journal, where he wrote every class and then I responded.

He just wrote to me. (I think I taught him in 2004? It was a long time ago). An excerpt from his email:

“I'm amazed at the time and care you took in your responses, especially when I recall that you were reading and responding to the journals of perhaps 60 boys. There are entire pages of what can only be described as arguments between us. My wife is appalled that I would talk to a teacher that way, but I'm realizing how important it was to me, then, to have a space where I could express myself and my frustration openly. In your responses you challenged me and disagreed, but you didn't dismiss my complaints. I was often in trouble for being "fresh" or for "sassing", and I cannot overstate how important the journal experience was for me, even if half my entries are essentially, "I'm bored and don't know what to write."”

Oh, I remember him well. I enjoyed our arguments (he argued with me in class, too). He was sardonic and resistant to taking things on faith, even if he was only twelve years old, and I found him utterly delightful.

I’m crying a little right now.

If you get a chance, thank the teachers that meant something to you. I promise you they will be grateful. #teaching