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Dear Kids, It Wasn't You

Dear Kids, It wasn’t you. “Oh, you work with middle schoolers? No wonder you quit teaching!” I have heard this more times now than I can keep track and every time I correct them. “It was never my kids,” I say, “It was everything else.” They all say it and they say it because they don’t know any better. They don’t know that I did everything in my power every damned day to protect you, to love you, to feed you. They don’t know that I’d stay up at night worried about you or that I stuck my neck out to protect you from immigration, police officers, and our school administration. My kids, you were the reason I was able to make it to work every day. As I struggled with leaving my son every morning, clinical depression, and generalized anxiety, you made me smile. You lightened my heart and showed me love when I didn’t think I deserved it. My kids, you are why I held on as long as I did; you are not the reason I quit. For the first time since I entered the doors of my park distric

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