I was a teacher at heart at an early age. Always left-handed, my handwriting left a bit to be desired, even back then. My sister, Karen, was my first student, I suspect, and has continued to tolerate -- even cheer me on through-- incessant ramblings about education throughout the years.
For several summers, my pre-teen self ran a backyard nursery school. Parents paid fifty cents to send their kids to my back yard for 2 hours, three times a week. At age 10, I thought I was rolling in the big bucks. We put on plays, using a sheet on a clothesline as a stage curtain, grew crystals on charcoal briquettes, raced miniature red-eared turtles, before it was illegal to own them as pets in Pennsylvania. We served more Koolaid than is probably legal under current federal dietary guidelines, played on swing sets made of metal, and tied clover chains that stretched down the entire driveway.
Somehow, I lacked the power of persuasion after my morning "Backyard School" to garner all of the bigger kids in the neighborhood to break the Guinness Book of World Records for clover chains by tying enough together to stretch down our entire street. To be fair, I don't know what the record was -- if there even was one -- that we would need to strive to break. It was prior to 1973, which many of my current students believe predates written history, and google didn't exist for my endless desires for instant research.
(In my research for this blog post, I discovered that nine years ago there was allegedly a 16892 foot chain. Not sure if it's listed in Guinness.)
In short, teaching has been part of who I am for, well, almost as long as I have been who I am.
Yet this past Thanksgiving week I made a ruminating possibility that had been bubbling up more often recently into an official, irrevocable, decision. And being the educator that I have always been, I did my research.
I delivered my letter in person to my superintendent and two principals - one in each of the buildings I serve, celebrating the pleasingness of 11-22-22 as the number sequence. Truth be told, I delivered the letters on 11-21-22, but couldn't bring myself to back up the date. It just wasn't as perfect, in my weirdly mathematical obsession. A copy of the letter appears below, without the hyper-script footnotes, since this blogging platform doesn't seem to support the idea of additional details through footnotes. Remember, Teacher of the Gifted, not the Gifted Teacher. (There probably is a way to do this, but technology, smh.)
November 22, 2022
Dear Dr. Lausch:
About eight years ago, two of my students wrote an entire collection of lyrics and music for a concept album they created, entitled Sonder. This collaborative project was their Talent Development Opportunity (TDO) in one of my Themes in Literature classes.
This was just one of thousands of times when I claimed ignorance, learning from my students, instead of teaching them. (Always Teacher of the Gifted, not the Gifted Teacher!) Derek and Tim explained the title’s definition as “The profound feeling of realizing that everyone, including strangers you pass but don’t interact with necessarily, has a life as complex as your own, which we, individually, are completely unaware of.” (See Footnote 1 - Blogger doesn't allow footnotes, apparently)
I’ve reflected on that project, and concept, countless times since that presentation. Sonder permeated my brain throughout the upheaval of Covid, as we, as teachers, became hyper-aware of the multitude of factors that could be contributing to our students’ educational shortcomings as we navigated a collective “new normal.” Essentially, educators have become “Sonder Investigators,” not really understanding the infinite circumstances of our students, yet realizing the call to attempt to try to do so with empathy and compassion.
In August, I attended the funeral of a colleague, who I had spoken to less than three weeks prior. Cheryl chatted about her plans to do three more semesters, and then join her husband in retirement. We had plans for our students - collaborative activities between her Life Skills students and Key Club - and dreams of expanding services in our Rent the Runway closet to include professional clothing. I knew Cheryl as a passionate woman who loved her job, and, with tears rolling down my face, promised to challenge myself to strive for the incredible energy, creativity, and enthusiasm she brought to Donegal. While listening to the testimonies at her funeral, I mourned her loss even more deeply as I realized how much she had on her list to explore with her family that was never going to be realized.
While I had a personal target of completing twenty-five years of service at Donegal, circumstances have changed dramatically. As I reflected on where I am in my life, I realized that so much of who I am is defined by my career and that my life outside of Donegal is often pushed to the side as I prioritize the needs of my students beyond my own family, and even myself.
It’s an odd feeling to experience sonder on one’s own life. I’ve realized over the last couple of months that I don’t really know who I am without the “Teacher of the Gifted'' label - that my ability to recognize the split identity of my non-teaching self has created a sense of sonderlessness (if there is such a word) in my own mind. I don’t really seem to have time to explore the full complexities of my personal life because of my primary focus and identity as a teacher.
This year has become very reflective and introspective for me, as I’ve been able to discover that what I have is onism. (See Footnote 2) In the immortal words of Lin Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, “There’s a million things I haven’t done…”, and while I’ve struggled with the subject/verb agreement in that quote, I am anxious to start chipping away at that list. So, please consider this letter my irrevocable notification of my intent to retire at the end of the 2022-23 school year.
I am profoundly grateful to Donegal for the investment made in me, and the continuing educational opportunities I’ve had at some prestigious universities trying to up my game learning to work with the best and the brightest in the district. I’ve had the privilege of working with some of the most talented people on the planet, and have received immense joy in watching my students discover the power of self-understanding and reflection as they practice metacognition and discovery. I am a lifelong learner, and will continue to learn and share new knowledge with others, even if I’m not in a classroom. (Case in point, I suspect this may be the first letter of intent to retire that you’ve ever received containing footnotes.)
With Gratitude,
Susan A. Heydt
Secondary Teacher of the Gifted
1
Coined in 2012 by John Koenig, whose project, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows , aims to come up with new words for emotions that currently lack words. Inspired by German SONDER sonder- (“special") and French SONDER sonder (“to probe").
2
n. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.
After I delivered the letters to the administrators, I spent the next day delivering the shirts, pictured below, to the people who mean the most to me. Colleagues and friends who are my absolute CREW. I delighted in telling each and every one of these people how much their support, patience, enthusiasm, and tolerance of me has meant to me. I got to say all those things you think about telling the people you love and respect, to their faces.
It was a phenomenal way to celebrate Thanksgiving Week - celebrating, very quietly, telling these friends and colleagues how much their support has meant to me. I truly was blessed to literally give thanks for them.
