Today, I was given a sheet of notebook paper with writing on it. I looked at it and I was unsure of how to react to it. It was a handwritten letter. I couldn’t remember the last time I was given a letter. On the paper, there was pencil. The writer was a sixth grader from California. He was writing to get information about the university and to see how the university approached diversity since he was an immigrant student from a small town in his state.
In his human-experience, he recognized the layers of his existence as a middle-school student. More importantly, he centered himself. He made his narrative matter. In reading the lined paper, I wanted to cry. Why? In some schools, students aren’t given the chance to center their narratives. However, this student did. He wanted his audience to know about his background and how it affects his daily life.
He was not simply a student, but he was an immigrant student that wanted to know how a potential future college would welcome him and his narrative. How bold! How conscious he is to think about the intersectional nature of identity!
I don’t know who this student is, but I applaud him for his quest for self-actualization. In reading his sincere letter, I felt compelled to reflect on my own self-actualization. Are we being honest with ourselves? Are we accepting of our narratives?
How does a sixth-grade student get to the point of recognizing that their narrative is vital in how they navigate their life? Who taught them? Where did they learn this?