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Dear Class,
You are all young, nine or ten, too young to know the pain of aging, the inevitable drag of death, the downhill tumble into the end. Yes, even I, at the age of forty, even I am a bit too young to talk about such things with any seriousness. But I have older friends, and I hear about it from them; I am aware of death and all of the things it means.
What you do know is the life-giving thrill of a dream, the hope to live in a world exactly like the one that exists in your mind. Your parents are (or at least ought to be) pumping you full of these thoughts, the plans for what you want to be when you grow up. I know mine did. My parents taught me that anything was possible if I was willing to work for it. I believed it then, and even now, thirty years later, I still believe. I write this letter without the slightest hint of cynicism or despair. Quite the opposite—I write out of hope. I write out of love for you all. I write because I am through with teaching. This is my letter of resignation.
From a young age I harbored dreams of flying. I had no delusions of growing wings, or simply willing myself into the air (a la Peter Pan). No, I knew that people flew in planes. I knew that and that's what I wanted to do. My parents, ever encouraging, signed me up for junior flight lessons at the local flight academy. For seven weeks, I sat in with real pilots as they conducted flying lessons with older students. I never got to touch the controls myself, but I soaked it all in. I could feel it inside of me; this is what I was meant to do. For medical reasons, I was forced to stop attending lessons. Life brought me to the ground, it made me comfortable on the ground, distracted me until I felt at home. I went through school, going on to obtain a master's degree in English literature—an accomplishment that brought me great pride. I jumped straight into a teaching career that has been successful by every measure. Flawless reviews, test scores through the roof. I loved teaching, loved my students and my fellow teachers. But that's over. I'm not longer comfortable on the ground. It's time to fly.
This morning I received a letter of acceptance from a very reputable flight academy. They are aware of my age, and the financial position of someone who has spent fifteen years teaching public school. But they also know passion when they see it. And they have a financial aid office that will work with me through the program. It has been a long time since I have been a student, but I feel I am ready. It's time.
Please do not take any of this personally. Know that I am doing what I love, what I have always wanted to do, what life intended for me. You are all very special to me, and I will see you in the sky. Good luck in the fifth grade.
