a letter to a third grader

hey, it's tiff.

this one isn't for you. it's for a kid i used to be. you can read it over my shoulder.

dear third grade tiff,

it's september. you have the new backpack and the good folders, the ones with the metal clasps, and you have made the vow again: this year i will keep up.

i need to tell you a few things.

you will not keep up. not this year, not next year. and it will not be because you didn't try. trying is the thing you will do more of than anyone in that room.

the tutors are not a punishment. the summer school is not a punishment. but you are going to read them as a verdict anyway, every single fall, for decades, and nobody is going to catch it.

they will keep telling you you're smart. it will never once land as a compliment. it will land as evidence of what you're wasting.

one night you are going to sit at the kitchen table sobbing while your dad gets more and more frustrated, and neither of you will understand why something so simple will not go in. you are both doing your best. the thing being taught was built for a different brain and nobody in that kitchen knows it yet.

here is what i came back to tell you.

you are not behind. you are on a different clock, and every september someone hands you a calendar from a country you don't live in and then asks why you're late.

you will keep buying the planner anyway. every year. i still do. it's hope with a receipt, and it might be the most stubbornly alive thing about us.

love, tiff. still not caught up. doing fine.

🖤 tiff