I sent the following email to my son’s kindergarten teacher early this morning. I am sharing it here in hopes that it inspires others to thank a teacher today, both in honor of the six women who gave their lives for their students last Friday, and in light of the unspoken responsibility all teachers take on every single time students enter their classrooms. The solutions to this problem of horrendous violence — issues of gun control and health care and even a cultural shift — are no doubt a good bit larger than a single note of thanks. But I believe we can’t go wrong if we start with love and gratitude, grace and trust.
Peace,
Robyn

Dear Mrs. Mattivi,

Like millions of Americans, I have spent the weekend swimming in a sea of mixed emotions. Sorrow. Gratitude. Anger. Love. Grief. Joy. It is interesting to see the ways in which people react to such unimaginable tragedy. Some get political. Some get angry. Some blame the media. Some smother their children with extra affection in an attempt to pinch themselves into remembering the good fortune they take for granted every day. Some focus their attention on the various heroic acts that saved lives. Some are just filled with despair.

All mourn what we lost.

I have done my fair share of sobbing over this — every time I see the face of a child who was killed; every time I imagine their terrifying final moments; every time I think about the grim task those first responders were faced with; and every time I ponder the life absent of their child’s laughter those parents now must endure. I’m sure you have done the same.

But every time I think about Newtown, CT., I think of you, Mrs. Mattivi, and I am filled with gratitude, not just for the job you do but for the person you are to my son. When Kostyn walked into your classroom on the first day of kindergarten, I had all the normal concerns of a mother whose baby was heading off to school. Would he make friends? Would he like his teacher? Would she like him? Would he do well, have fun, stand out, blend in? Focused solely on his experience, I neglected to really think about the enormity of your job. Newtown has helped me to appreciate it in a way I hadn’t before, because I realize that for six hours every day, he is not just away from home, he is yours. In the time between “criss-cross-applesauce” at your morning meeting and getting coats on at the end of the day, you are not merely his teacher, the adult who is showing him how to write a sentence and how to follow directions. Whether he realizes it or not, to him you are also the manifestations of love and light, guidance and reassurance. You are his caretaker and champion and audience and friend.

As a parent, I can’t help but consider how I would cope if what happened in Newtown happened here. And every time those dark imaginings cross my mind, I am left with one thought: I would find such comfort knowing he was with you.  If I couldn’t shield my own son from such unspeakable horror, if he couldn’t be held and kept and talked to in a moment of crisis by a member of his own family, by those within my tight circle of close loved ones, then I would want it to be you. I would want you to be with him.

I would want yours to be the calming voice he heard until the crisis was over. I would want your reassuring face to be the one he found if his eyes were searching frantically for answers to questions he couldn’t even formulate. I know you would do everything to protect all of him – his mind, his heart and his body. As a parent, you can imagine how deeply, deeply comforting it is to regard your child’s teacher that highly, and to know your child does as well.

Thank you, for all that you and your colleagues do for our kids. We are forever grateful. Good luck today, and always.

God bless,
Robyn Passante