Devonne Brown

“If you would pass these out for me, please,” the principal, Mr. Justice, handed a stack of bound journals to Ms. Nichols and another stack to Mr. Wamsley. They gave each teacher a lovely black hard cover book with a red feather pen emblazoned on the front. “These are to be your gratitude journals. I want you to write in them every day, on your planning period, about something you’ve been grateful for that day. It should be about school, but it can be about anything at all, as long as you’re grateful.”

Wonderful, I thought. Another thing we get to do. I raised my hand. “Do we turn these in with our lesson plans, or will you just come around and check them?” I heard some gasps. I heard some laughter. The principal smiled a cold smile. He didn’t like my question.

“You don’t have to turn them in at all, but I’ll ask what you’re grateful for and will ask if you’re keeping them up. I’ll ask you to show me that you’re doing them.” His jaw was working, and his face was red. 

Another hand shot up. “This is a beautiful idea. I’m so thankful we have such beautiful books to write our thoughts in. It was very kind of you to get these journals for us. I look forward to using this as a growth tool in the coming school year,” said Mrs. Wheeler, the overachieving queen of everything and brown nosing bitch of the school universe. I barfed a little bit in my mouth and wished I could keep it shut.

“How often will you be checking them? Once a week? Once a month?” I was on the gratitude roll, and getting quite pissed at the same time, but I didn’t want to do it wrong. “I just want to be sure I’m doing it correctly,” I assured Mr. Justice. Jesus, I thought about calling my union rep.

“You don’t need to spend more than five or ten minutes a day on them, but you do need to write daily. Search for something to be grateful for all the time and you’ll find it more easily each day,” he said.

Mrs. Wheeler piped up again. “I am so grateful for this opportunity. I’ve always thought this would be a great idea. Now, it’s built into our day. I love it.”

The room was quiet for a moment. “How about we start right now? Why don’t we write for ten minutes about what we’re grateful for about this meeting? About you? About these books? About the coming year? That’s something we couldn’t get in an email, right? Then we can share,” I heard a collective groan, I laughed. 

Mr. Justice turned bright red then purple. “What a great idea,” he said. I had seen him look more sincere.

“I’ll set the timer,” said Mrs. Wheeler, “does everyone have something to write with?” Clueless, she was on board with everything. A schoolboard’s dream.

I summoned the sweetest smile I had and sent it to Mr. Justice, “Here’s one of my special pens for you, Mr. Justice.”