Teacher Writes Letter To Students To Prepare Them For Test

Third grade is a tough transitional year for elementary students, especially as they begin taking standardized tests. Yet, one teacher’s letter to her kids is bringing everyone to tears.

Nervous About Tests

It was almost test time for third grader Rylan Fallis, a student at Pleasant Crossing Elementary School in Whiteland, Indiana. Like most of his classmates, he was nervous. There’s a lot of pressure placed upon students to perform well on tests, but some kids just don’t test well and the stress can be overwhelming.

Letter Supports Students

Before Rylan was to take his first standardized test at school, he received a letter from his teacher that reassured him and his classmates that these tests do not provide the whole picture of how amazing each of the kids really are.

Heartfelt Words

The letter moved Rylan to tears. When he told his mom Abby he had cried at school, this caring and concerned mom was worried at first.

The Letter

Then Rylan showed her the letter. “Dearest Students, Next week you will take your ISTEP test for math and reading, and two weeks after that you will take your IREAD test. I know how hard you have worked, but there is something very important you must know. The ISTEP and IREAD tests do not assess all of what makes you special and unique. The people who create these tests and score them do not know each of you like I do, and certainly not the way your families do. They do not know that some of you speak two languages, or that you love to sing or draw. They have not seen your natural talent for dancing. They do not know that your friends count on you to be there for them, that your laughter can brighten the darkest day, or that your face turns red when you feel shy. They do not know that you participate in sports, wonder about the future, or sometimes you help with your little brother or little sister after school. They do not know that you are kind, trustworthy, and thoughtful. and every day you try your very best. The scores you will get from these tests will tell you something, but they will not tell you everything. These tests do not define you. There are many ways of being smart. YOU are smart! You are enough! You are the light that brightens my day and the reason I am happy to come to work each day. So, in the midst of all of these tests, remember that there is no way to ‘test’ all of the amazing and awesome things that make you, YOU. All I ask is that you do your personal best and do not give up. You have been working for this since Kindergarten and are ready! I believe in you!”

Teachers As Influencers

Abby was also moved to tears, grateful for such a kind, compassionate and caring teacher in her son’s life, one who would not just help him navigate the intimidating tests, but help him get through life spent at school as a nine-year-old boy.

Letter Impacts Mom

Abby posted a picture of the letter on Instagram and explained: “Rylan got in the car today and told me that he was embarrassed because he cried at school. I asked him what upset him, and he told me he cried, because he was happy about a letter his teacher gave his class before they take the ISTEP. Needless to say, when I read it, I cried, too. We need not just more teachers like her, but also more people like her in this world.”  

One Letter, One Huge Impact

Abby’s post has been shared around the world, even by famous celebrities like Ashton Kutcher. Who knew that one heartful, supportive letter from a teacher to her students would have such a huge impact in and out of the classroom.

No one sacrifices more for us than our moms. From before we’re born until we move out of our parents’ house and beyond, our moms work tirelessly for us. And although we can never fully repay the kindness our mothers have shown us, it’s important to remember their love for us from time to time and try to do what we can to repay that kindness. Because you never know when you’ll wake up one day and your mother won’t be there anymore to thank. This story is a powerful example of that. When he was young, the writer of the story was so embarrassed by his mom that he basically disowned her. Later, when he moved away, he may have forgotten her, but you can be sure his mom didn’t forget him. I don’t want to spoil the story for you, but I’ll tell you this: the letter that the writer’s mom wrote him at the end of the story is one of the most moving things I’ve read in a long time. After I wiped away the tears, I called my mom. Read it. Your mom will thank you. : “My mom only had one eye. I hated her… She was such an embarrassment. She cooked for students and teachers to support the family. There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to say hello to me. I was so embarrassed. How could she do this to me? I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran out. The next day at school one of my classmates said, ‘EEEE, your mom only has one eye!’ I wanted to bury myself. I also wanted my mom to just disappear. I confronted her that day and said, ‘If you’re only gonna make me a laughing stock, why don’t you just die?’ My mom did not respond… I didn’t even stop to think for a second about what I had said, because I was full of anger. I was oblivious to her feelings. I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her. So I studied real hard, got a chance to go abroad to study. Then, I got married. I bought a house of my own. I had kids of my own. I was happy with my life, my kids and the comforts. Then one day, my mother came to visit me. She hadn’t seen me in years and she didn’t even meet her grandchildren. When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at her for coming over uninvited. I screamed at her, ‘How dare you come to my house and scare my children! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!’ And to this, my mother quietly answered, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address.’ And she disappeared out of sight. One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. So I lied to my wife that I was going on a business trip. After the reunion, I went to the old shack just out of curiosity. My neighbors said that she died. I did not shed a single tear. They handed me a letter that she had wanted me to have. ‘My dearest son, I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to your house and scared your children. I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion. But I may not be able to even get out of bed to see you. I’m sorry that I was a constant embarrassment to you when you were growing up. You see……..when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your eye. As a mother, I couldn’t stand watching you having to grow up with one eye. So I gave you mine. I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye. With all my love to you, Your mother.’” If this story moved you, please share! The mothers of this world will thank you.

We found a truly touching story written by Rafael Zoehler and thought we’d share it with you: ’Death is always a surprise. No one expects it. Not even terminal patients think they are going to die in a day or two. In a week, maybe. But only when this particular week is the next week. We are never ready. It is never the right time. By the time it comes, you will not have done all the things that we wanted to. The end always comes as a surprise, and it’s a tearful moment for widows and a bore for the children who don’t really understand what a funeral is (thank God). It was no different with my father. In fact, his death was even more unexpected. He was gone at age 27. The same age that claimed the lives of several famous musicians. He was young. Way too young. My father was not a musician and neither a famous person. Cancer doesn’t pick its victims. He was gone when I was young, and I learned what a funeral was because of him. I was 8 and half, old enough to miss him for a lifetime. Had he died before, I wouldn’t have memories. I would feel no pain. But I wouldn’t have a father in my life. And I had a father. I had a father who was both firm and fun. Someone who would tell a joke before grounding me. That way, I wouldn’t feel so bad. Someone who kissed me on the forehead before I went to sleep. A habit which I passed on to my children. Someone who forced me to support the same football team he supported, and who explained things better than my mother. A father like that is someone to be missed. He never told me he was going to die. Even when he was lying on a hospital bed with tubes all over him, he didn’t say a word. My father made plans for the next year even though he knew he wouldn’t be around in the next month. Next year, we would go fishing, we would travel, we would visit places we’ve never been. Next year would be an amazing year. We lived the same dream. I believe — actually I’m sure — he thought this should bring luck. He was a superstitious man. Thinking about the future was the way he found to keep hope alive. The bastard made me laugh until the very end. He knew about it. He didn’t tell me. He didn’t see me crying. And suddenly, the next year was over before it even started. My mother picked me up at school and we went to the hospital. The doctor told the news with all the sensitivity that doctors lose over the years. My mother cried. She did have a tiny bit of hope. As I said before, everyone does. I felt the blow. What does it mean? Wasn’t it just a regular disease, the kind of disease doctors heal with a shot? I hated you, dad. I felt betrayed. I screamed with anger in the hospital, until I realized my father was not around to ground me. I cried. Then, my father was once again a father to me. With a shoebox under her arm, a nurse came by to comfort me. The box was full of sealed envelopes, with sentences where the address should be. I couldn’t understand exactly what was going on. The nurse then handed me a letter. The only letter that was out of the box. “Your dad asked me to give you this letter. He spent the whole week writing these, and he wants you read it. Be strong.” the nurse said, holding me. The envelope read ’When I’m gone’. I opened it. Son, If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. I knew I was going to die. I didn’t want to tell you what was going to happen, I didn’t want to see you crying. Well, it looks like I’ve made it. I think that a man who’s about to die has the right to act a little bit selfish. Well, as you can see, I still have a lot to teach you. After all, you don’t know crap about anything. So I wrote these letters for you. You must not open them before the right moment, OK? This is our deal. I love you. Take care of your mom. You’re the man of the house now. Love, dad. PS: I didn’t write letters to your mom. She’s got my car. He made me stop crying with his bad handwriting. Printing was not easy back then. His ugly writing, which I barely understood, made me feel calm. It made me smile. That’s how my father did things. Like the joke before the grounding. That box became the most important thing in the world for me. I told my mother not to open it. Those letters were mine and no one else could read them. I knew all the life moments written on the envelopes by heart. But it took a while for these moments to happen. And I forgot about it. Seven years later, after we moved to a new place, I had no idea where I put the box. I couldn’t remember it. And when we don’t remember something, we usually don’t care about it. If something goes lost in your memory, It doesn’t mean you lost it. It simply doesn’t exist anymore. It’s like change in the pockets of your trousers. And so it happened. My teenage years and my mother’s new boyfriend triggered what my father had anticipated a long time before. My mother had several boyfriends, and I always understood it. She never married again. I don’t know why, but I like to believe that my father had been the love of her life. This boyfriend, however, was worthless. I thought she was humiliating herself by dating him. He had no respect for her. She deserved something a lot better than a guy she met at a bar. I still remember the slap she gave me after I pronounced the word “bar“. I’ll admit that I deserved it. I learned that over the years. At the time, when my skin was still burning from the slap, I remembered the box and the letters. I remembered a specific letter, which read’When you have the worst fight ever with your mom.’ I ransacked my bedroom looking for it, which earned me another slap in the face. I found the box inside a suitcase lying on top of the wardrobe. The limbo. I looked through the letters, and realized that I had forgotten to open ’When you have your first kiss’. I hated myself for doing that, and I decided that would be the next letter I’d open. ’When you lose your virginty’ came right next in the pack, a letter I was hoping to open really soon. Eventually I found what I was looking for. Now apologize to her. I don’t know why you’re fighting and I don’t know who’s right. But I know your mother. So a humble apology is the best way to get over this. I’m talking about a down-on-your-knees apology. She’s your mother, kid. She loves you more than anything in this world. Do you know that she went through natural birth because someone told her that it would be the best for you? Have you ever seen a woman giving birth? Do you need a bigger proof of love than that? Apologize. She’ll forgive you. Love, dad. My father was not a great writer, he was just a bank clerk. But his words had a great impact on me. They were words that carried more wisdom than all of my 15 years of age at the time. (That wasn’t very hard to achieve, though). I rushed to my mother’s room and opened the door. I was crying when she turned her head to look me in the eyes. She was also crying. I don’t remember what she yelled at me. Probably something like ”What do you want?” What I do remember is that I walked towards her holding the letter my father wrote. I held her in my arms, while my hands crumpled the old paper. She hugged me, and we both stood in silence. My father’s letter made her laugh a few minutes later. We made peace and talked a little about him. She told me about some of his most eccentric habits, such as eating salami with strawberries. Somehow, I felt he was sitting right next to us. Me, my mother and a piece of my father, a piece he left for us, on a piece of paper. It felt good. It didn’t take long before I read ’When you lose your virginty’: Congratulations, son. Don’t worry, it gets better with time. It always sucks the first time. Mine happened with an ugly woman…who was also a prostitute. My biggest fear is that you’d ask your mother what virginity is after reading what’s on the letter. Love, dad. My father followed me through my entire life. He was with me, even though he was not near me. His words did what no one else could: they gave me strength to overcome countless challenging moments in my life. He would always find a way to put a smile on my face when things looked grim, or clear my mind during those angry moments. ’When you get married’ made me feel very emotional. But not so much as ’When you become a father’. Now you’ll understand what real love is, son. You’ll realize how much you love her, but real love is something you’ll feel for this little thing over there. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. I’m just a corpse, I’m not a fortune teller. Have fun. It’s a great thing. Time is gonna fly now, so make sure you’ll be around. Never miss a moment, they never come back. Change diapers, bathe the baby, be a role model to this child. I think you have what it takes to be an amazing father, just like me. The most painful letter I read in my entire life was also the shortest letter my father wrote. While he wrote those four words, I believe he suffered just as much as I did living through that moment. It took a while, but eventually I had to open ’When your mother is gone’: She is mine now. A joke. A sad clown hiding his sadness with a smile on his makeup. It was the only letter that didn’t make me smile, but I could see the reason. I always kept the deal I had made with my father. I never read letters before their time. I would always wait for the next moment, the next letter. The next lesson my father would teach me. It’s amazing what a 27-year-old man can teach to an 85-year-old senior like me. Now that I am lying on a hospital bed, with tubes in my nose and my throat thanks to this damn cancer, I run my fingers on the faded paper of the only letter I didn’t open. The sentence ’When your time comes’ is barely visible on the envelope. I don’t want to open it. I’m scared. I don’t want to believe that my time is near. It’s a matter of hope, you know? No one believes they’re gonna die. I take a deep breath, opening the envelope. Hello, son. I hope you’re an old man now. You know, this letter was the easiest to write, and the first I wrote. It was the letter that set me free from the pain of losing you. I think your mind becomes clearer when you’re this close to the end. It’s easier to talk about it. In my last days here I thought about the life I had. I had a brief life, but a very happy one. I was your father and the husband of your mother. What else could I ask for? It gave me peace of mind. Now you do the same. My advice for you: you don’t have to be afraid PS: I miss you