Dear America,

At 249 years old, you’re not exactly young anymore, but in the grand scheme of history, you’re still finding your way. As a teacher, I often see potential in my students that they don’t yet see in themselves. That’s how I see you. Today, I’m sitting down to write your mid-term progress report. Spoiler alert: you’ve earned a C+. It’s not a bad grade, but it’s also not reflective of the greatness I know you’re capable of achieving.

Let’s start with the good news. You’ve made some remarkable progress in recent years. You’ve started having conversations you once avoided, tackling issues like racial equity, economic justice, and the truth of your history. You’ve listened—maybe not always as well as you could, but better than before. Movements for justice and equality have sparked real change, from communities reforming policing practices to schools rewriting curriculums to include voices long silenced. I see these efforts, and they give me hope.

But, much like a student who’s beginning to understand a tough concept, you have areas where you still struggle. Systemic inequality—whether in education, healthcare, or housing—continues to hold you back. It’s like a student who aces one test but forgets to turn in their homework. The effort is there, but the follow-through? Not so much. And then there’s the resistance to change. Some parts of you fight so hard to stay the same, clinging to old habits and narratives that no longer serve you—or anyone else.

And let’s talk about your engagement. You show up when it’s easy, when the whole world is watching. But where are you when the cameras are off, and the work isn’t glamorous? Progress isn’t made in the moments that go viral; it’s made in the quiet persistence of everyday effort. That’s where the real work lies, America.

Here’s the thing: I know you’re capable of more. I’ve seen glimpses of it in your people—in the teachers who fight for their students, the activists who refuse to give up, and the communities that rally together in the face of adversity. At your core, you are a nation built on the idea of possibility. And while you haven’t always lived up to that ideal, I believe you can.

You’re at a crossroads, America. You can continue to coast, content with the C+, or you can strive for the A that you’re capable of earning. It won’t be easy. Growth never is. It requires uncomfortable conversations, systemic changes, and the willingness to confront parts of yourself that you’d rather ignore. But I promise you, it will be worth it.

I give this same speech to my students every semester: grades aren’t the end of the story. They’re a snapshot of where you are right now, not a reflection of where you can go. Your potential, America, is limitless. But potential means nothing without action.

So here’s to the next chapter. Let’s keep doing the hard work. Let’s keep showing up. And let’s make sure that when the next progress report rolls around, we’re celebrating more than just incremental change. Let’s work toward the greatness we know you’re capable of.

With hope,
A Teacher Who Believes in You

Renee O’Connor