To Whom It May Concern

My blackness was not for you to put on display when you needed to check off the diversity box, but degrade when I spoke up for what I believed in.

Just because I didn't have anything to say, did not mean I was angry. I was just thinking. You never gave me space to do that.

My passion for Black people was good enough for your career, but not good enough when I told my student teachers it was a great idea for our students to participate in Black Lives Matter Week.

You believed the parents who told you that I was hostile, disrespectful and aggressive. I was never, and will never be that way toward a parent.

You bragged on my use of multicultural literature, but never the creative way I taught math or how I used songs to help students remember concepts.

I was good enough to teach at your school, but not good enough to lead a program. You told me that I'd never understand what it feels like to be a leader.

I could teach Black histories as long as there was a white teacher in the room.

You didn't have to talk about me behind my back.

You were bold enough to yell at me in front of my students, but not bold enough for me to confront you about it.

After leaving your institution, you said no one would hire me.

But one thing you never thought I would be, is a good teacher. A well-rounded teacher. An honest teacher. An unapologetic Black teacher.

You wanted me to fail. You wanted me to need and depend on you. You didn't think I was good enough on my own.

Oh, I almost forgot; when you said that the reason for my resignation was because I was a young Black girl trying to find my way, you were wrong. I knew my way, but I had to leave because you were never going to give me room to shine.

I wish you well,

Dawnavyn