I was extremely fortunate to have spent all of my grammar school years, from kindergarten to eighth grade, at a Chicago school on the South Side called Ancona Montessori School. Feeling nostalgic, I wrote a letter to the teachers I had during my time there.

Dear former teachers of mine,

Beginning with my first and second grade teacher - I remember being out on the playground during recess and approaching you as you surveyed the grounds where very young children scattered, playing vigorously in the chilled winter air.

“Why do we have recess?” I asked you innocently. “Why do we take time out of the day to just play when we could be doing math problems or having silent reading time?”

You looked down at me and smiled. “Play is very important,” you explained gently. “You might not notice it, but when you play you’re learning just as much as you do during silent reading or math lessons.”

You taught me to read full books. You pressed tissue to my gushing nose after an accident that happened during P.E. class. You encouraged me to trust adults and to love other children my age. I still see you sometimes in the bookstore, but you don’t remember me; I never approach you to say anything, because it’s been so long I don’t know what to say anymore.

Thank you.

My third and fourth grade teacher - every single morning I was the first student to arrive to class, and looking at the lesson plan for the day, I was always dismayed (but never surprised) to see we would be practicing cursive writing at 10:30am. “I hate cursive!” I would declare.

“Well,” you said every time, “cursive loves you, Elizabeth.”

You taught me to type. You praised my silly stories about a boy who was turned into a mummy on Halloween, and told me to keep using my imagination. You introduced me to poetry. You helped me with math when it drove me to tears. You stopped wearing those Converse tennis shoes because they hurt your feet. You still wear glasses that rest on the tip of your nose. We had dinner together recently and it was so heartwarming to hear about how much you enjoyed having me as a student so many years ago.

Thank you.

Later on, my fifth and sixth grade teacher - when we had flour sack babies in 2007, you asked us to put ours down for “naps” during class so we wouldn’t be distracted by them. One day, as we put our babies down for silent reading, I found a sizable hole in the corner of my flour sack and panicked.

“I have tape in the closet,” you whispered to me as I pinched the hole closed, tears forming in my eyes. “Try not to spill any flour. It’s okay. We’ll fix it.”

And we spent that silent reading hour taping the hole in my baby closed.

You always had a book recommendation for me. You were the first person to ever explain to me what the world looked like and that there is more on Earth than just Chicago. You spoke about me in front of the whole school for my eighth grade graduation, telling everyone how proud you were of me for how far I’ve come, as a person and a writer.

Thank you.

Following you, there was my seventh and eighth grade teacher - you were the teacher who watched me really turn into a writer. I gave you pieces I wrote on my own time to get your opinion on them. I once gave you a short story I planned to submit to a literary magazine; you read it over and returned it to me the next week with notes. I sat down at a computer during study hall and started working on the second draft. You came over and sat with me and said, “it’s good.”

“Thank you,” I said absentmindedly.

“No, I mean it,” you said. “Ignore the notes for a second. You need to know. Criticisms aside, it’s good. You’re a good writer.”

You would write down the schedule for the day in different colors on the whiteboard. You would eat snap peas for lunch every day. You let me have my own column in the school newspaper. You were the one who anonymously submitted a poem I wrote to a literary magazine, which ended up being my first published work. I heard recently that you’re leaving the school, and I feel sorry for every student who was born too late to have you as a teacher.

Thank you.

My music teacher - you put up with me sneaking off during class to play every instrument except my own for nine years, and saw me struggle with reading staves for that entire time, too. When I come visit, I want to show you how good I’ve gotten at guitar since I’ve graduated. Thank you.

My librarian - you taught me how to research, which is one of the most beneficial skills I have ever acquired. Also, you never berated me for peeing my pants in your classroom in kindergarten. Thank you.

My Spanish teacher - not only were you my language teacher for many years, but you were my homeroom teacher for a year as well. You taught my whole class how to use the CTA when we did our CityQuest assignment, plus taught us how to conjugate irregular verbs. Thank you.

My art teacher - you told us stories about your puppy, who must be old by now. You would let kids come down to your classroom during lunch and eat with you as we all inspected, traded, and played with our marbles. You gave me an egg marble for my birthday when I turned 13. Thank you.

Each and every one of you are incredible, wonderful, spectacular human beings whom I am very blessed to have known and learned from.

All of you have very much shaped me into who I was after high school. My high school teachers did quite the number on me as well, but that is another story for another day.

I promise I will come visit soon.

Again,

Thank you.

Sincerely,

A former student