Letter to the editor: Moments of discretion

Dear Friends and Colleagues, 

Bright sunny windows, a colorful classroom, happy kindergarteners and a teacher new to the district. The world of Beatrix Potter had come alive, and Jemima Puddle Duck would waddle in soon. It was September 2008. The summer had been dark because of the start of the Great Recession, and my eldest was starting Kindergarten. The world of simple addition, vowels-consonants, and innocence was a welcome respite.

Calm, efficient, and experienced, the new teacher took over the big class of 25 children and created a welcoming classroom environment. My son soon made friends, and as a room parent, I became privy to the joys of Big Backyard walks, wrapping giggling kids in toilet paper (for Halloween: a mummy; for the Winter Party: a snowman—so easy!), or bringing in cultural toys and artifacts to share my son’s heritage.

In 4th grade, a silver-haired, commanding sprite—scarcely taller than her students—declared at Back-To-School Night: “Give me a white board, some colored markers and a group of children ready to learn, and I feel I have died and gone to heaven!” Having become accustomed to the unemotional phlegm of New Englanders, that passion was eye opening. The veteran teacher proceeded to make a reader-writer of my reluctant child who thankfully progressed beyond the go-to conclusion—”it was fun.”

In middle school, a plain-speaking, curly-haired, mathematical genius cemented the child’s self-belief that he was a math person, with abilities and insights that mattered. Something that they have managed year after year for so many middle school children in Lexington. 

And then Covid happened. Classes, college applications, SATs, essays, recommendations and transcripts. Studying, graduating and college were still necessary. Countrywide, an unprecedented level of moral responsibility was being asked of town elected officials and employees. As a School Committee Member, our votes impacted the well being of children and by extension, the health of their families, educators and community. 

On Aug. 25, 2020, we took a vote for either a fully remote or hybrid version of schooling during the pandemic. The day of the vote, I received an email from a beloved teacher who was to write my child’s college recommendation letter. They were urging me to vote for fully remote. While not certain, I kind of knew that the teacher had been very ill with Covid well before the vaccines became available. And given that parents are never privy to their college recommendations, a vengeful educator could ruin my child’s chances. All of these considerations were warring with the emails from parents. They expressed deep anxiety for children with no option to interact with peers or educators. 

The meeting was 6.5 hours long. The testimonies by parents and educators were heartfelt and valid, regardless of points made. As I voted for the hybrid solution, my hands were shaking. While making the right choice for the children in the district, was I harming my child’s long-term prospects? 

In 2021, my eldest got into his first-choice college and in 2023, my second followed suit. Their beloved teacher wrote really good recommendations for both (I assume, as I will never really know).

In quiet moments of discretion, an educator transcends themselves with gratitude for the integrity and character of our educators.