6/4/24
Anna's last day was Friday, May 31, 2024
She collected all of her gifts and notes from her students
Took pictures with her seniors who she had as freshmen four years ago
Turned in her keys and walked away from her Georgia classroom
made up of predominantly black and brown students
who needed her to stay.
She is not (really) leaving because of the constant shift of politics/policies/procedures of her school district
She survived that.
She is not (really) leaving because she suddenly lost her colleague and mentor last year, her marigold.
She survived that.
She is not (really) leaving because of the overwhelming needs of her students
Who continue to need her even after they have left her class.
She did this tearfully because she was both too empty
and too full to stay another year.
She is going to graduate school for counseling in the fall
Her next dream is to do horse therapy for children and young adults.
She sees this as a failure on her part.
She could not stay in the game.
But I am writing this for her to say
You will always be a teacher. No, you will always be a kumu, and although it is translated as teacher
you also know that what I am saying is so much more than that.
You have not walked away/quit/failed/disappointed/disappeared at all.
This is not just me counting my alumni retention rate on a spreadsheet
This is not me fudging the numbers of teachers that have stayed in the profession.
Your intention to bring aloha where aloha is needed
is still the act of teaching
even if it is not within the confines of four walls, hallways, doors, windows, bells, systems
You will continue to teach with love and rage
without which there is no hope.
How do I know this?
Because I see you, Anna: homeschooled girl
Blonde tita blending into Nanakuli and Waiʻanae like a real local
whose tattoos grow like a garden of heartbreak on skin
bringing color in a dull world when the sunshine of your smile is not enough.
I see you, kumu to kumu
And I am proud of this new journey that will fill you up with joy and ʻono again,
Bring students who need you back to your door.
I see you.
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