When we were younger, we all dreamed about having fairy godmothers and guardian angels: someone to guide us closer to our dreams. But I dreamed about having an older sister because being the eldest child is fun—until it isn’t. Until you’re figuring things out alongside your parents in a new country and have no idea if you’re doing the right thing. My parents’ concern included me getting the best schooling possible, and ensuring my health and happiness. And for the most part, they were great. But as for my social life, we were all equally clueless. And so I hoped for an older sister to help me because I have always felt as though I were fumbling in the dark throughout my life. I wanted someone who could help me find the light switch.
And that’s who Ms. Mott was: the English teacher who once attempted to dye her hair blue and loved the bananas in Laos. She shared my interests (beyond just great fruit) and went to college right by where I was from, meaning she understood my predilection for insane cupcakes and my high standards for ice cream. Her writing assignments were profound and inspiring and felt as though they were written just for me. She recognized my talent in a craft I had abandoned—writing—and figured out how to encourage me in a way that helped me grow beyond just the words that I was scribbling on paper. And most importantly, she made The Canterbury Tales readable. That’s a teaching talent that isn’t taught, but intrinsic.
So that is why I know that as selfishly as I want to be able to see Ms. Mott throughout the next year, there are numerous other kids looking for writing guidance, a Nassau Street dining expert, a great baker, or the best older sister anyone could ask for. And those kids deserve to be just as lucky as I and the Deerfield community have been these past two years.