Dear Teacher,
I’m Jenna, and this is my oldest son, Leo. He’s part of your class this year, and I wanted to take a moment to share a bit about him.
I must admit, I have a tendency to get a bit emotional when I think back to the day I dropped my little one off at preschool for the very first time. Back then, he was a chubby toddler, not the tall, lanky kid standing beside me now. I used to push him on the swings, anxiously imagining the day I’d have to leave him in someone else’s care. It was tough to envision trusting anyone else with the safety of my firstborn. I remember picturing Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs. Kramer, rushing his injured son to the hospital after a playground mishap; the anxiety just wouldn’t leave my mind.
Then, I had another child, and preschool transformed from a daunting milestone into a much-needed respite for my sanity. Sure, I shed a few tears that first day, but since then, I’ve found that Leo genuinely loves school. He thrives in a classroom environment, and I can’t allow myself to feel sad about this next chapter anymore.
That said, I want you to know that you have some big shoes to fill. My fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Clara Jameson, holds a special place in my heart. In hindsight, I appreciate her more than ever for providing me with a nurturing experience before the realities of middle school hit. That final year of childhood was precious, and I hope Leo can enjoy something similar. After all, adulthood stretches on much longer than childhood, leaving less time for fun, creativity, and exploration.
Leo is still very much a child. He invents games with his brothers on rainy days, showers his baby sister with kisses, and even switches the channel when Monster House is on because it scares him just a tad, even if he won’t admit it. I want him to relish this last year in elementary school. While I appreciate that you’ll be preparing him for middle school, I also hope you’ll recognize that he’s still losing those baby teeth.
You’ll have a piece of my heart this year in your classroom, so please be kind to him. He still carries the carefree confidence of a child who hasn’t yet faced algebra or the intricacies of Shakespeare. He believes he can conquer the world and that he is invincible. While I know this phase won’t last forever, I’m clinging to these fleeting moments when he doesn’t fret over his appearance or grades.
Please encourage him, challenge him, and recognize that he truly is a good kid. He is incredibly intelligent, but please don’t let him know that. Instead, ask him to earn his knowledge and to engage with his assignments. It will mean so much more to him in the long run. Push him to see what he’s capable of achieving.
I appreciate your patience with my emails about concerns. Some will be valid, others a bit silly, but just know I’m trying my best not to hover or invade your space. It’s tricky these days to navigate what being a “good” parent means—I’ve been told to step back, yet remain involved and advocate for my child. I’m unsure if I should check his homework; some teachers prefer I do, while others don’t. I’m eager to help out in the classroom, but I hope it doesn’t come across as overstepping.
I trust Leo will do just fine, and I’m genuinely excited to see how you’ll inspire him this year. I’m simply striving to be the best parent I can be, whatever that looks like, and I’m not crazy. (Well, probably not.) In the end, I just want Leo to be happy and have a fantastic year, and I know you share that goal. I’m here to support both of you.
What I actually managed to say during Meet the Teacher was more like, “Hi, I’m Jenna. This is Leo. He’s in your class this year. So, um… where’s his desk?”