I remember the moment I learned about WSSD. I’d been teaching in Philly for three years, impacting children who were beautifully brown like me and who needed me. Teaching, mothering, inspiring. I was making a difference. I was so blessed, so very blessed, to be given an opportunity to sow into the lives of students who, under normal circumstances, are unseen, unnoticed, and overlooked in an unjust educational system. 

The shared history, not taught in the curriculum, connected and overlapped our very different lived experiences and I showed up daily, feeling blessed, so very blessed to be a part of their journey. 

My phone rang one evening in early June. My former principal from Philadelphia, at the time the principal of some unfamiliar place the locals called SRS, shared that there was a job opening and, in his words, “ it was truly a great place to be.” Gary Davis invited me to visit. I showed up at SRS and was welcomed. I was always welcomed. Gary had selected the friendliest teachers in the building to greet me. There was even a special lunch prepared just for me. So blessed, so very blessed to have this opportunity. I walked through the halls in wonder. It was 2001. Students had their shoes off and were sitting on window sills. A teacher on the 2nd floor had a pet cat, and nobody seemed the least bit alarmed. Pat Cronin, a third-grade teacher, was making pancakes with syrup he had tapped from a maple tree, and some administrators apparently thought it was a good idea to have a multi-aged class with first and second-graders learning together with different curriculums in the same class. I wasn’t quite sure what this place was, not yet. As I walked the halls, few brown faces looked back at my perplexed face, questioning everything I was taking in. Was this unfamiliar place really where I should be? I was making such a difference where I was. Did this community need me? God answered. You need them. So blessed, so very blessed. 

What was unfamiliar has become my home. The outstanding educators in this district have become my family. The students, my inspiration, and the community are my strengths.  My friends, whom I will never forget, have become my anchor. I am grateful to have spent 23 years in this place. So blessed, so very blessed to be a part of the Swarthmore community. Because even on my most challenging of days, I never stood alone. Love lives here in Swarthmore. Allies live here in Swarthmore. Curious, brilliant students who value others' perspectives live here in Swarthmore. I will always feel blessed, so very blessed to have been a part of your community.  

I will end with a poem that I wrote:

Swarthmore-Rutledge School, a beautiful symphony orchestra, preserving the classical music tradition;

the history of The Great Migration creating the historically Black neighborhood of Swarthmore that predates the borough itself.

Our walls tell stories of triumph and strength.

Just listen. 

A beautiful symphony orchestra offering concerts; each person playing a different instrument,

together with a community of people who gather and celebrate the unique gifts that each member brings.

Harmonies in our diversity of thought, because we are a community lifting our voices and instruments to play one song.

Just listen. 

A beautiful symphony orchestra creating new music each school year. Setting the stage for a journey filled with learning and laughter.

Through connections and reflections, we accept our failures and challenges.

We ask which instrument is not playing?

If there is a section that is too loud, how does that affect our beautiful sound?

All the while reaching toward our goal; to play even when we think no one is listening.

Playing for each other, for justice, for a better future.

An inspiration to all to join our beautiful symphony orchestra we call The Swarthmore Rutledge School.

Just listen.

Thank you for this honor.  

With Love,

Jennifer