Dear Mr. Gatica,

In my years at East Prairie, I never formed a tight, lasting bond with any teacher. I like many of my teachers, past and present, but thinking of the ones most influential to me, one name comes to mind: yours. You, of course, recently left EPS to student-teach at a CPS school, but I wish to never forget you. In sixth grade, while I doodled in my notebook in science class, you joked around with me, calling every face I drew yours, every pen I drew the one on your desk. One time, I drew a house, and you asked me how I knew where you lived. These little jokes sound small, seem unimportant, but you gave me a sense of community in East Prairie, the feeling that a teacher really liked me, and not just needed to teach me. Of course, you never taught me as a teacher. You stayed in the classroom to help other kids, and chose to approach me, chose to talk to me. You always joked with other students, always acted silly, said nice things. But it meant a lot that you made that joke one day in sixth grade, in Ms. Friedman’s classroom, as I hunched over a page of doodles in my wide ruled notebook. You always said hi to me in the lunchroom. That always made me smile. When I felt stressed out, and you called to me, you distracted me, gave me something positive to think about.

In seventh grade, I saw less of you. The school put you in classes other than mine, though when you said hi to me at lunch, I always felt happy. It felt good to know a teacher cared about me, cared about the students enough to make an effort to make each kid feel special.

This year, the school placed you in my science class again. We conversed more often this year than ever before. I discovered that, beyond having brief chats with students in the hallways, you exist on this planet as a genuinely kind and wonderful person. I talked with you this year about teaching, and about school, and your job. Our conversations generally stayed in those topics, but it always put a smile on my face to chat with you. You smiled constantly; maybe that put a smile on my face.

I recall when you told me, a while before winter break, of your leaving. I felt unsure how to react. Before, I planned to give you a drawing (of yourself, to reference the jokes) right before I graduated. I envisioned the drawing in my mind’s eye. A semi-realistic caricature of you. So I nodded, asking a few questions. I wondered about where you went, but as I asked questions and heard answers, it saddened me to think of your leaving. Remembering our conversations in the past, it made sense. I completely understood your move. In your shoes, I know I would make the move. I felt excited for you, and I still feel that way. But at the same time, I miss you. Different substitute teachers fill your position each day, and I wish to look over to someone, someone to wink at me and smile, cheer me up. I gave you a drawing, a small one, just a doodle. I found little time to create the masterpiece I envisioned. The last day I spoke to you, I wished you a bright future, and told you I hope your new job serves you well. I genuinely feel that way. I really think you hold the potential to achieve great things, for other kids, kids in different schools, maybe different states. Keep making each kid feel special.