Response to my 8th Graders/ May 2019

Dear Students,

It’s been a day since Ms. Corona called to tell me that you—Chavez 8th Graders—had the idea to invite me to your graduation as a guest. She said you chose me because you believe I’ve been someone who inspired you in the past. When she said those words, I was in the middle of a clinic shift. And still, my heart lit up. I laughed nervously—surprised and deeply moved to be remembered by you all. My first words were, “Oh my, I can’t believe it. Me? I’m so honored.”

I tried to hold the phone between my shoulder and ear while my hands scrambled for my calendar, hoping, searching—please, let there be a gap, a cancellation, anything—just so I could make it. But when I saw it was Thursday morning and I had a packed clinic shift, my heart sank. I couldn’t leave my clients. They, too, were counting on me for care. I realized I wouldn’t be able to see you, and I felt genuinely heartbroken.

That night, I went home and told my partner the news, with a lump in my throat. I told him how you all and I go way back—since late autumn of 2013, when I had just migrated from Puerto Rico, from the mountains of San Lorenzo. Chavez was my first school, my first time teaching Sex Ed—and my first winter. Which, of course, happened to be during the Polar Vortex. Perfect timing, right?

You were my very first students ever. I remember texting Mr. T every time snow fell, unsure if school would be canceled.
“Jacoba, it’s just some snowflakes,” he’d reply.
“Ohhh, I see!” Oops.

When I repeated to my partner what Ms. Corona told me—how I met you when you were just 4th or 5th graders, and yet you still remembered me—I felt a deep need to say: “Me? Inspired them? They were the reason I made it through some of the hardest years in Chicago. They inspired me. They changed my life.”

And that’s why I’m writing you now. Because sometimes we spend so long searching for the source of our inspiration, only to realize—it’s been right inside of us all along.

When I came to Chavez to teach Sex Ed—and all those awkward topics you really didn’t want to talk about—you reminded me to slow down and listen to what mattered to you.
“Who cares about self-esteem, Jacoba… but don’t forget to tell us when the mustache grows. A mustache is a mustache!”

But when the mustache did come and didn’t feel how you hoped it would, I was there to remind you: you are beautiful no matter what. Wink.

When I first began teaching and some of you didn’t understand my English—or my BoliCua accent—some of you made fun of me. And when I looked into your eyes and told you how much it hurt, you immediately apologized. You told me about your abuelxs and immigrant parents—how they also had accents, and how beautiful those accents were. And in that moment, you made me feel seen.

We’d talk about babies for hours (because you knew how much I loved that), and then you’d say:
“But you’re 40 and a midwife… and you don’t have babies?”
And when I opened up and explained, you looked at me with such compassion.
“We can all be your kids, Jacoba.”
And I felt so loved, part of a family.

The day after Trump won the election, I showed up to class holding it together the best I could. But you—you came straight to me. You told me your fears, your worries for your families. That day, we sat in a circle and just listened to each other. You reminded me: there is no lesson more important than the one that connects us as humans.

Then came Hurricane María. And every time you saw me in the hallway, you’d stop to ask,
“How’s your family, Jacoba?”
You showed me how home and family are words that stretch. You got it. You understood. Solidarity was our best lesson of all.

Now you’re graduating 8th grade. And in the midst of all the excitement, you took a moment to think of people who may have inspired you. Somehow, you thought of me. But what I really want you to know is this:

There is nothing more inspiring to me than the love, the empathy, the laughter, the compassion, and the hermandad you gave to a stranger from the mountains of Puerto Rico—someone who arrived alone in 2013 with a suitcase full of fear… and a translator.

Your welcome, your kindness, and your open hearts helped me through the pain and challenge of leaving home. If I inspired you at all, it’s because I was reflecting all the love and goodness you were already giving me, every single day.

So as you graduate and go out into the world, never forget: YOU are the ones who inspire others—just by being your true selves.

That’s a beautiful gift.
That’s a great responsibility.
And I know, with all my heart, you will carry it with care.

Be the light for someone else. You never know when they’ll need it.

It helped me. More than you can imagine.

I love you all, and I couldn’t be prouder.
Happy Graduation Day.

Con tanto amor,
Your Maestra 4Life,
Jacoba