The Teacher Recommendation Letter.
It's an... odd thing. One of the curious artifacts of my career. Over the past few years, I've had the pleasure of writing letters of recommendation for several students, including some students to whom I am quite close. Those letters are both the easiest and the hardest to write. What can you convey to a college admissions officer to convince them that the person on whose behalf you are writing should be accepted? How much does my opinion really matter? I mean, how many letters do college admissions offices receive that aren't full of gloriously high praise for the applicants?
I wonder whether I take my letter-writing more seriously than the students take their application. Probably not, but when a student gets waitlisted or rejected, I can't help but feel like I've been rejected, too. Last year, I wrote some (well, I thought) particularly well-crafted letters; I poured a lot of myself into them. I'd write, set them aside, revisit, revise, edit, rewrite, even sending follow-up letters once I got to know a student better. The average letter took me over a week to complete.
How can the essence of a student be distilled into a letter? (no more easy a task than their own application essays, certainly) I'm currently writing this year's crop of letters, mindful of the decisions that will be made as a result of them that will set the course of these students' lives. And the hardest part is getting started. Well, no, that's not true. Because I follow a basic format for all my letters and fill in the details; it's deciding what, exactly, to present about a student that is the tough work. Sometimes it's easy - there is one singular trait that stands out. They have fantastic artistic ability. Their analytical capability stands out among their peers. They're exceptionally teachable. Their elegance belies their age. Then, there are those who are more difficult to describe. The ones who evoke something more ephemeral to a teacher. These are harder to write than the shopping list of talents: work ethic, check; intellectual ability, check; leadership roles; check. The students who, deep down, you know are destined for great things, even though they make Bs in my classes. It's hard to write that and come off as sincere, though. I used to panic over how well I really know my audience. I would think, how do I know what the reader of my letter on any given day at any given university is looking for? That's the wrong approach. The goal of the letter, after all, is to paint a fuller portrait of the candidate, so any details are good details.
Because they are so much of myself, I keep my letters private. I require students to sign the waiver so my letters won't become part of a their record. I send them straight to the university myself or hand them over to our college counselor in sealed envelopes with my signature across the seal. Part of me doesn't want a student to be critical of my letter and think, "well, this piece of trash is the reason I didn't get in!" - however unlikely that may be. Part of me doesn't want students to know that I think so highly of them. That's an interesting conundrum - we all crave praise, but I'd hate for a student to grow arrogant as a result. Call it maintenance of the balance of classroom power, if you like.
So, Class of 2008. Good luck, and know that you'll end up where you're meant to be. But I'll still agonize over your letters.
It's an... odd thing. One of the curious artifacts of my career. Over the past few years, I've had the pleasure of writing letters of recommendation for several students, including some students to whom I am quite close. Those letters are both the easiest and the hardest to write. What can you convey to a college admissions officer to convince them that the person on whose behalf you are writing should be accepted? How much does my opinion really matter? I mean, how many letters do college admissions offices receive that aren't full of gloriously high praise for the applicants?
I wonder whether I take my letter-writing more seriously than the students take their application. Probably not, but when a student gets waitlisted or rejected, I can't help but feel like I've been rejected, too. Last year, I wrote some (well, I thought) particularly well-crafted letters; I poured a lot of myself into them. I'd write, set them aside, revisit, revise, edit, rewrite, even sending follow-up letters once I got to know a student better. The average letter took me over a week to complete.
How can the essence of a student be distilled into a letter? (no more easy a task than their own application essays, certainly) I'm currently writing this year's crop of letters, mindful of the decisions that will be made as a result of them that will set the course of these students' lives. And the hardest part is getting started. Well, no, that's not true. Because I follow a basic format for all my letters and fill in the details; it's deciding what, exactly, to present about a student that is the tough work. Sometimes it's easy - there is one singular trait that stands out. They have fantastic artistic ability. Their analytical capability stands out among their peers. They're exceptionally teachable. Their elegance belies their age. Then, there are those who are more difficult to describe. The ones who evoke something more ephemeral to a teacher. These are harder to write than the shopping list of talents: work ethic, check; intellectual ability, check; leadership roles; check. The students who, deep down, you know are destined for great things, even though they make Bs in my classes. It's hard to write that and come off as sincere, though. I used to panic over how well I really know my audience. I would think, how do I know what the reader of my letter on any given day at any given university is looking for? That's the wrong approach. The goal of the letter, after all, is to paint a fuller portrait of the candidate, so any details are good details.
Because they are so much of myself, I keep my letters private. I require students to sign the waiver so my letters won't become part of a their record. I send them straight to the university myself or hand them over to our college counselor in sealed envelopes with my signature across the seal. Part of me doesn't want a student to be critical of my letter and think, "well, this piece of trash is the reason I didn't get in!" - however unlikely that may be. Part of me doesn't want students to know that I think so highly of them. That's an interesting conundrum - we all crave praise, but I'd hate for a student to grow arrogant as a result. Call it maintenance of the balance of classroom power, if you like.
So, Class of 2008. Good luck, and know that you'll end up where you're meant to be. But I'll still agonize over your letters.
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