I graded an entire class set of essays tonight after work. Here’s the thing about reading personal essays: you learn a lot about the lives of hundreds of young people – how they view things, how they process, what bothers them and what they care about tremendously.

I’ve read thousands of stories from kids at this point in my career. Sometimes I read heartwarming stories about learning new skills or forgiveness, other times I read funny stories about silly embarrassing moments or fights with siblings that turn out okay. I’ve read about hundreds of painful sports injuries and glorious “hit the shot at the buzzer” moments. I’ve learned about dozens of mission trips. Then there are the stories that stick with me: the kid who had to move in with his aunt because of parental drug use; the kid whose best friend killed himself; scary police run-ins, severe bullying, homelessness, death, mental illness, abuse.

I’m lucky. Kids trust me with their stories and I try my best to cherish them, reassure them, and listen to them. It’s not easy: I have about 60 stories just from my 7th graders alone. Finding the time to read, understand, and respond to their writing is difficult. I never feel like I’m doing enough. But I do my best.