An open letter to the unnamed graduating seniors

We see you.

We had an honors convocation ceremony at Western High School today. It was an incredibly affirming experience as a teacher. I started tearing up just seeing this year's graduating class walking down the stairs to the stage in their caps and gowns.

Being a graduate is a unique and incredible time of life; one of your hands tying up the loose ends and emotions of the first real chapter of your life; the other apprehensively turning the page of the next one.

Watching 200 students that you’ve grown to know and love go through feels weighty and momentous. There’s a sense of honor and privilege that comes with getting to see it.

Teachers of math, science, social studies, and English gave awards to their most outstanding students. Scholarship awardees were announced. Athletes were honored.

As the ceremony progressed, however, I couldn’t help but think of the unnamed.

Most of the students who sat on that stage today never heard their name spoken out loud. They weren’t National Merit Scholars or Athlete of the Year. They weren’t one of the two individuals chosen for a subject’s department award. They weren’t valedictorian or an Eagle Scout.

This letter is for them.

Dear seniors,

We saw you when you were sophomores and you decided to raise your hand when no one else did. We saw you when you asked us how *our* day was going. We saw you when you didn’t really know what you were doing in class, but gave it your best shot anyhow.

We saw you turn in the sort-of-shitty essay instead of using AI. We saw you fail the quiz the first time, but come in for help and ace it the second (or third).

We remember when you made us laugh, and we’ll never forget when you were kind in the hallway.

We were touched when you admitted you messed up and we enjoyed every conversation you took the time to have with us about life: your passions, your challenges, your favorite music, and the best Starburst flavors.

We saw your periodic tables of Taylor Swift songs and famous Powerlifters come together. We watched you nervously deliver powerful speeches about topics from climate change to the importance of being nice to the freshmen class.

Our hearts soared when you came in to say hi and with every little note your counselors and admin aggressively asked you to write for teacher appreciation week.

We watched you grow into people younger students looked up to. We teared up watching you read with elementary students and run the coffee cart with the MICI class.

We saw the disappointment in your faces when things didn’t turn out the way you hoped they would.

We saw your hearts break because of something that was happening at home.

We watched you stop at the crossroads of giving up and trying one more time.

You might not have won the department award or a prestigious scholarship; you might not have been the best athlete in your class or have lots of cords around your neck; but you need to know that none of that matters to us. In fact, our days were much richer and more interesting because of your quirks, imperfections, and tiny victories.

Our lives have been made better because of you. I’m sorry to tell you there’s no award for that. But, in my experience, living in a way way where you make yourself and those around you a little better every day is the most rewarding thing there is.

To those named and unnamed today, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for letting us be a tiny part of your journey. From what we can tell, the world is in good hands with you. We wait on the edges of our seat to see your story unfold, no matter your pen name.

Love,

Your Teachers