Turkey-Shaped Validation

On Thursday, November 18th, I was sitting at my desk, staring at two letters shaped like turkeys. They’re a little crumpled now from being held in my hands (and later personally showing them to my wife and family). The handwriting is that distinct 7th-grade style—careful but not quite polished, enthusiastic in its use of exclamation points.

I’ve read them about thirty times now.

And I’m still crying happy tears.

When Gratitude Catches You Off Guard

Here’s the thing about validation: you never really know when you need it most. You think you’re fine. You think you’re confident in your choices. You’ve done the hard work of discernment, made the difficult decision, and committed to the path forward.

And then two 12-year-olds hand you thank-you letters after knowing you for three weeks, and suddenly you realize just how much you needed to hear exactly what they wrote.

What struck me most wasn’t the specific compliments—it was what these letters revealed about Annie and Abby themselves.

They’d been paying attention. In the midst of everything else happening in their 7th-grade lives—the social dynamics, the homework load, the constant busyness of middle school—they’d noticed specific things about their own growth. Abby could articulate that her speaking skills had improved “in just a matter of weeks.” That’s self-awareness. That’s reflection. That’s a young person tracking her own development.

Annie wrote about what makes learning environments work for her—reliability, constructive feedback, and yes, fun. She wasn’t just saying generic nice things. She was identifying the specific elements that help her thrive. That takes observation and emotional intelligence.

And then—here’s the part that gets me—they both took the time to write it down. On turkey-shaped paper, no less. They could have just said “thanks” in passing. They could have kept those observations to themselves. But they chose to sit down, put pen to paper, and share their gratitude with someone else.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days of showing up, listening to persuasive arguments, offering feedback, making space for both seriousness and laughter. And somehow, in that brief window, these students felt seen enough, supported enough, and impacted enough to put pen to paper.

What I’m Focusing on Now

Because of Annie and Abby, I’m lasering in on some areas of my life:

Tell students when I see their growth. Not at the end of the semester when grades go out, but in the moment. When someone makes a stronger argument than last week, I’m saying so. When someone’s body language shows more confidence, I’m pointing it out. When someone takes a risk and tries something new, I’m celebrating it. Growth deserves to be named.

Write more thank-you notes. To colleagues who inspire me. To parents who trust me with their kids. To students who take chances. To anyone who makes my work better or my day brighter. If two 12-year-olds can take time to express gratitude, so can I.

Create more space for joy. Annie said debate is “really fun.” That wasn’t accidental. That was intentional—on my part and on theirs. We chose to approach hard work with lightness. We chose to make room for laughter alongside learning. And I’m going to keep choosing that, because joy isn’t frivolous. Joy is fuel.

Show up reliably. Abby said I’m “always willing to help.” I want that to remain true not just in week three, but in week thirteen and week thirty-three. When the newness wears off, when the excitement fades, when the grind sets in—I want to still be the coach who shows up, pays attention, and offers help. Consistency is a form of love.

The Gratitude I’m Sitting In

I’m grateful that I get to do work where a “thank you” from a 12-year-old can move me to tears. Where three weeks of showing up matters enough for someone to notice. Where reliability, willingness to help, and making things fun are the qualities that students value.

I’m grateful for a career transition that put me in a position to receive these letters in the first place. For the several months of uncertainty that led to clarity. For a wife who supported that uncertainty with patience and faith. For twin kids who showed me where I belonged and what I might be good at if I tried it out.

I’m grateful for students who are brave enough to try debate, humble enough to accept coaching, and generous enough to say thank you. That combination of qualities? That’s going to take them far in life.

And I’m grateful that I get to witness it. That I get to be part of their journey, even in this small way, during this brief window of middle school when everything feels enormous and possible and terrifying all at once.

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To Annie and Abby: Thank you for teaching your teacher. Thank you for reminding me what matters. Thank you for these letters—I’m keeping them forever. ❤️(Thank God for lamination!)

#SAMETEAM