Because sometimes I miss teaching in Kentucky...

...and the letters I would receive.

Last week I was doing professional development in New Haven, where we were shifted to and from this or that building. Before I left, though, I nabbed a series of writer's notebooks off my shelf so I had models of how I used them with my students in Louisville.

While waiting for teachers to arrive, I thumbed through a few of the books when a stack of letters plummeted to the floor. They were written by Peter, class of 2006, in 2004. He was on a doodie caper, and although he didn't always turn in his work or conduct himself on the same page as was expected, he humored me with his motivation for writing what mattered to him. Below is the first letter of many he turned in over the two years I taught him.

Dear Bryan,

As you may know I like to use the toilet on a regular basis. My favorite toilet in the school is the one right under Carrie and Brenda's rooms. I love them it so because of these seclusion they it have has from the filthy ass brown school population. I have even made it a routined to excrete (spelling?) my bodily (more spelling?) waste every day in 6th period art class. But at about 11:30 A.M. on October 13th, 2004, I noticed a strong smell coming from "my toilet."When I looked in I noticed some on shat in my toilet and neglected to flush. What really got to me was the fact that as this mystery shatter began his dessent (sic) he got his doo foo all over my seat. I go don't know what to do, Bryan. I am lost with out my toilet. So please inform the custodian for me.

Love, PJV

The detective work went on all year as he tried to find out who also used the same commode. As I read this right before conducting a six-hour workshop I could only laugh. This is teaching. This is truth. And you can't make any of this up.