I received an email about a month ago from a former Boston Arts Academy high school student. I knew them as Elyias Harris and now they were professionally known as Deen Rawlins-Harris. We hadn’t been in touch all that much since they graduated in 2009, but we had had a strong relationship when they were in high school. I had followed their career with interest after they graduated. Were they now really writing to ask me to join their MFA thesis defense committee? I had to read the email again. Really? Me? I had never sat on such a committee. Phd or Ed.D committees, yes, but perhaps this was out of my range. Yet, I was intrigued and enormously touched by the request. I wrote back immediately to their advisor and to Deen to make sure my contributions would be of value.
Deen responded, “Yes,” and went on to say, “Your expertise in 1) creating liberating environments for youth to learn through arts-based practice and 2) your personal experience working with me as a youth leader feel valuable to have reflected on my defense committee.”
I was overjoyed to be invited and support Deen’s work (again)!
And then I received their thesis. I’m not sure I’ve ever cried reading someone’s thesis, but Deen’s is bounded by two beautiful letters– letters written to his high school student government advisor, whom they call Ms. O. Deen wrote poignantly both in their introduction and conclusion about the ways they had grown and learned from her mentorship and how they hoped they had done similarly with the youth they worked with during the thesis project. I had hired Ms. 0 and she had made numerous contributions to the school, but sadly, her life was cut short by cancer, perhaps in Deen’s senior year of college. She now clearly lived on in Deen’s work.
I wanted to share this experience with all of you because it’s often said that educators can’t know our impact on the young people we work with at the moment. To be invited to a former student’s defense was such a powerful moment– sixteen years later. Our moments in the classroom, hallways, cafeterias–they all matter.
Thank you, Deen. Proud feels like too small a word. I am enormously moved by all you have done and will continue to do. Thank you for including me into your community of young people and your own deep reflections of those experiences.
