I know this letter may not change much for you, but I can't help setting down some thoughts that have been turning over in my mind and heart for some time now.
I believe, as Saint John Bosco said—he who gave so much to young people—that society can transform itself if we truly invest in children and adolescents. That investment matters.
It happens not just at home, but in schools where the young learn and grow. I hate hearing teachers dismissed as lazy, children condemned for their restlessness, teenagers written off as unmotivated and reckless. These tired clichés get us nowhere.
So I want to push back. I want to offer some thoughts that might help teachers understand how personal their work is—how much the well-being of every student in your classroom depends on what you give them and how you show up.
Let me name a few things that should be carved into every teacher's heart. I learned them as a student first, then as a teacher myself.
Who are these children, these young people sitting in front of you for hours each day? You must know them one by one. Call them by their names. Each one carries a personal history—often a heavy one, sometimes a painful one—and that story needs to stay visible to you always.
The time they spend with you will reflect what you give them: respect, challenge, knowledge, example, care. When you close that classroom door, you leave your own troubles outside. You have to. You're free then to give yourself completely to them—to young people who are waiting for someone attentive, someone who smiles, someone who can draw them into the joy of learning, into the adventure of discovery, into the work of growing together.
Each one of them, with their gifts and limits and quirks and particular way of being, is asking you the same thing: "Will you take care of me too?" "Will you try to understand me, even when I'm not what you hoped I'd be?"
Are you willing to bend over backward to invite them into the thrill of knowing, the excitement of finding out, the pleasure of working side by side—not to prove you're clever or better than anyone else, but to help each other like climbers on a mountain? Because only that way do we all reach the summit. Only then do we taste the victory together.
Some won't want to climb at first. They're tired or lazy. Some will stop and ask for your hand. Some will race ahead but will feel proud turning back to carry the pack of someone who's struggling.
Pretty words, you might say. Easy to write.
I know. It's not easy. There will be days when you want to give up. Your effort seems to yield nothing. Your strength fails. But listen.
Look at them—really look, one by one. See the deep hunger in their hearts to know they can count on you. They already know the truth you need to remember: with you, they can make it to the top. With you, they'll discover what it means to love school.
Mariangela Bertolini, 2009