Dear Number 5’s Music Teacher

Dear Number 5’s Music Teacher,

First, I have to say that this will be very difficult for me to write without using the F word.

But I am keeping this as clean as possible because I really want teachers to be able to share it without getting in trouble.

And we aren’t “friends”, and I really want to make sure it finds its way to you.

Sure, I could write you a letter. I could send you an email.

But I kind of think the whole world should see what I’m going to write to you…

Today I came to Number 5’s kindergarten concert.

Her hoedown.

And I just want to thank you.

For being f***ing awesome.

(It doesn’t count when you use symbols).

Up until I got married, I was an elementary school teacher.

I worked in six different elementary schools over the course of twelve years (if you count student teaching).

Our kids have attended four different elementary schools in three different towns.

So that’s ten different schools altogether.

And I’ve spent a decent amount of time working with twice as many music teachers.

I have attended over twenty elementary school age concerts for our own children.

At this point, I’m going to call myself an expert.

And in my expert opinion, you blow every single music teacher I have ever worked with or who has ever worked with any of my kids out of the f***ing water.

Big time.

Today was unbelievable.

Number 5 is our third child to attend this school, so this was my third kindergarten music production with you.

Being a former teacher myself, I know how things work.

There are the young whippersnappers who come in full of energy and ideas and are ready to try new things every five seconds. Or at least until they find the equation that works.

And then they become veterans.

And for the most part, the veterans don’t want to fix something if it ain’t broke.

Now I don’t want to offend you, but I wouldn’t characterize you as a young whippersnapper anymore.

You’re in the veteran territory.

But this was my third kindergarten concert with you, and each show has been different.

And better than the one before.

Number 5 told me that she had been playing the ukelele in music class.

I didn’t really believe her.

And then I saw them.

Who the f*** buys ukeleles for a classroom full of 5-year-olds and then incorporates them into a hoedown?

Nobody.

Except for you.

Besides being totally impressive,

how f***ing cute is this?

Number 5 had the time of her life.

And so did I.

To be totally honest, I experienced just about every emotion there is to experience during your twenty minute performance today.

Who the hell says that after a kindergarten musical performance?

Who the hell says that after any musical performance?

I laughed. I cried. It was better than Cats.

But it’s true!

I laughed. Out loud. Multiple times.

I was so proud of my little girl. I watched her confidently belting out songs like a pro, with expression and enthusiasm (and a good amount of volume, too).

But then you went straight for the jugular with Cat Stevens.

I am a self-admitted crier.

I cry at everything.

But how anyone can watch 20+ kindergarteners silently performing Morning Has Broken in f***ing sign language and not shed one single tear is beyond me.

Again. Amazing.

It is clear that you love what you do.

It is clear that you love all of our kids.

And it is clear that you are a veteran who is never going to settle.

So thank you.

Thank you for being a part of my daughter’s life.

Thank you for making music such a wonderful, all-encompassing experience for her.

There are a lot of good teachers out there.

But there are only a handful of, as one other mom put it, supreme teachers.

And you, Mrs. O, are one of them.

Do you need to lose your shit in order for your kids to help out at home? My LIVE WORKSHOP is open for registration. Register now.