Dear Professor,
It’s the 12th class that we have had together. You ask for volunteers for our presentation next week. I know that I haven’t really made an impression on you yet, so I raise my hand and volunteer to be the first presenter. I see your face as you look on our class roster that has our pictures on it, looking for the spot next to my name to make a mark. It looks like you make a mark near someone at the top of the page and I realize something that I have never encountered before. My last name is Taranella, I know I am on the other side of that paper that you didn’t even bother to flip over. I’ve been in your class twice a week for over six weeks now, and you still haven’t learned what my name is.
Listen to me, I know it must be hard for you to learn so many names, I know you have two classes with about 20 students in each. 40 people is a lot. But hear me out when I tell you that I am someone that deserves to have an identity in your class. This isn’t my best subject so I’m not answering every question, but I am in this class to learn, and I need you in order to do that.
I came to Rollins for many reasons, and one of the ones that sold me the most was the idea of a small class size. The idea of actually knowing your professor and maybe even forming a friendship with them that was special in this school as opposed to others that I could’ve attended. In every class that I have had so far, I’ve had amazing relationships with my professors, and some of them have even emailed me this past semester to see how I was doing. I occasionally snapchat my Spanish professor and I have even become close enough to my RCC professor to become her peer mentor. But this is the thing: I’m not trying to be your friend. I’m trying to make it through one of my hardest subjects, and having the respect of you actually knowing my name could be influential to my success.
Maybe you just don’t care, but I don’t want to think that way. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here. I want to think that you are just too busy to realize that I am a part of this class. I trust my college in hiring you. You must be doing something really cool outside of class that is taking up all of your time. You could be solving some of the world’s mysteries or maybe even finding a cure to cancer. I bet you have a family, and who am I to say that you haven’t had something going on at home this semester? But hey, all I’m asking for is recognition through the use of my name, not a Nobel Peace Prize.
I deserve to be known. I deserve to be known as much as the girl on my right or the boy on my left, and I know you haven’t bothered to learn their names either. We are important to you because it is your job to teach us this subject, and because we are the ones that are going to one day take this knowledge and apply it to real world situations. You seem excited to teach us, and that is great. But in the end I really am doing this for you. I want you to be able to help me accomplish something great one day, and I want you to realize that I was your student. I want you to see me in that moment and say, “I knew that Casey would do something great one day.” That’s all I’m asking.
Thanks a lot, I’ll be testing you this week.
