To whom it may concern,
I am, officially, a lord.
There is a micronation called Sealand that's located a handful of miles off the eastern coast of the UK where a small family has declared sovereignty. Though there are some legal quibbles--enough to make it "depends on how you look at it" whether or not it's a real micronation--it manages to keep itself afloat (pun!) on its abandoned WWII-era, water-based fortress by selling off titles of nobility, pieces of land, and even jerseys for their football team.*
Yes, I want a jersey of the Principality of Sealand. I'm a lord of Sealand, after all. I ought to support my team. (I don't know if I have the $60 to buy the jersey, though. I'm not a rich lord.)
Anyway, being the anglophile that I am, I confessed to one of my classes a while ago (I can't even remember when...probably during the unit on Pride and Prejudice) that I wanted to be a sir or a lord, and that Sealand was basically my only chance. One of my students, it turns out, is already a lady of Sealand, and knew exactly what I was talking about.
Well, I'm now at the end of the year with these kids. The last day of class before finals (this past Thursday), I was leaving one classroom to travel to my other room. One of the students in 7th period said that he was supposed to stall me.
"What?" I asked, packing up my stuff and heading toward the hallway.
"I'm supposed to stall you."
"What, like keep me from going to class?"
"Yeah," he said, a sheepish smile on his face.
"Well, that won't work. See? I'm walking down the hall." I headed toward the other side of the school (which is larger than the Principality of Sealand), ignoring the student's attempt to stall me. What for? I figured they were setting something up--possibly a prank, or maybe they had a celebratory end-of-year cake they wanted to share and needed some extra moments to set up.
When I entered my class, all of the students were lined up, creating a tunnel of kids, heading toward my swivel chair. They were grinning and laughing at my confusion and surprise. The discombobulation evaporated when I saw the aforementioned student who was a Sealand lady holding a certificate. The kids had purchased for me my very own title of lordship.
The students ushered me to my seat, then, with ceremony including a plastic Wonder Woman sword to dub me lord, they put a plastic crown on my head, handed me the certificate, and applauded as they fired small confetti containers into the air.
It was one of the best moments in school that I've ever had.
I'm signing all of the end of year documents as "Lord Dowdle", as well as my emails. My wife is genuinely jealous of my new title, insisting that she should be considered "Lady Dowdle" because she is married to a lord. (I don't think that's how it works for Sealand titles, since that's sort of a buy one, get one free deal.)
Later that same day, someone knocked on the classroom door. I put on my crown, grabbed my sword, and opened it just a crack. A student was looking for a different teacher, but I think I freaked her out a little answering the door that way. I shut the door on her and continued teaching, because that's the kind of guy I am.
At first I was worried, however: The ethics laws of Utah forbid teachers from accepting gifts that have a value of more than $50, and depending on which package deal they purchased, I would have to actually reject the gift. After doing a little research, however, it's clear that not only did they not spend more than $50, four students in particular had chipped in to buy it, thus spreading around the costs. That made me feel a lot better, because the alternative would be really sad.
I deeply appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gift. Students have given me many things throughout the years--gift cards, foods and treats, plants, dinosaur toys, books, and other memorabilia from our time together. It's always appreciated, if only because teaching is a job unlike any other, and feeling as though the work done is recognized or valuable can sometimes be fleeting. I've very much enjoyed this year, and I am no realizing that I fell into the trap of thinking that every year is essentially the same. I forgot to relish the fleeting time I had with this particular crop of kids, not realizing that I had a special group.
That I'm now a lord is only one small indication of how special they are. I always hope, at the end of the school year, that I can teach them something that sticks, something that matters to them. This year, in a way I hadn't anticipated and failed to fully appreciate at the time, they reciprocated the lesson.
I'm grateful for that.
Sincerely,
Lord Steven Dowdle
----
* It should be noted that Sealand is 0.0015 square miles, or about 42,000 square feet, which isn't enough space for a soccer field, which is closer to 64,000 square feet. Doesn't keep them from having a team, though.
I am, officially, a lord.
There is a micronation called Sealand that's located a handful of miles off the eastern coast of the UK where a small family has declared sovereignty. Though there are some legal quibbles--enough to make it "depends on how you look at it" whether or not it's a real micronation--it manages to keep itself afloat (pun!) on its abandoned WWII-era, water-based fortress by selling off titles of nobility, pieces of land, and even jerseys for their football team.*
Yes, I want a jersey of the Principality of Sealand. I'm a lord of Sealand, after all. I ought to support my team. (I don't know if I have the $60 to buy the jersey, though. I'm not a rich lord.)
Anyway, being the anglophile that I am, I confessed to one of my classes a while ago (I can't even remember when...probably during the unit on Pride and Prejudice) that I wanted to be a sir or a lord, and that Sealand was basically my only chance. One of my students, it turns out, is already a lady of Sealand, and knew exactly what I was talking about.
Well, I'm now at the end of the year with these kids. The last day of class before finals (this past Thursday), I was leaving one classroom to travel to my other room. One of the students in 7th period said that he was supposed to stall me.
"What?" I asked, packing up my stuff and heading toward the hallway.
"I'm supposed to stall you."
"What, like keep me from going to class?"
"Yeah," he said, a sheepish smile on his face.
"Well, that won't work. See? I'm walking down the hall." I headed toward the other side of the school (which is larger than the Principality of Sealand), ignoring the student's attempt to stall me. What for? I figured they were setting something up--possibly a prank, or maybe they had a celebratory end-of-year cake they wanted to share and needed some extra moments to set up.
When I entered my class, all of the students were lined up, creating a tunnel of kids, heading toward my swivel chair. They were grinning and laughing at my confusion and surprise. The discombobulation evaporated when I saw the aforementioned student who was a Sealand lady holding a certificate. The kids had purchased for me my very own title of lordship.
The students ushered me to my seat, then, with ceremony including a plastic Wonder Woman sword to dub me lord, they put a plastic crown on my head, handed me the certificate, and applauded as they fired small confetti containers into the air.
It was one of the best moments in school that I've ever had.
 |
| Since the kids are still high school students, I had to crop them out. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, even if I can't name them on my blog! |
Later that same day, someone knocked on the classroom door. I put on my crown, grabbed my sword, and opened it just a crack. A student was looking for a different teacher, but I think I freaked her out a little answering the door that way. I shut the door on her and continued teaching, because that's the kind of guy I am.
At first I was worried, however: The ethics laws of Utah forbid teachers from accepting gifts that have a value of more than $50, and depending on which package deal they purchased, I would have to actually reject the gift. After doing a little research, however, it's clear that not only did they not spend more than $50, four students in particular had chipped in to buy it, thus spreading around the costs. That made me feel a lot better, because the alternative would be really sad.
I deeply appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gift. Students have given me many things throughout the years--gift cards, foods and treats, plants, dinosaur toys, books, and other memorabilia from our time together. It's always appreciated, if only because teaching is a job unlike any other, and feeling as though the work done is recognized or valuable can sometimes be fleeting. I've very much enjoyed this year, and I am no realizing that I fell into the trap of thinking that every year is essentially the same. I forgot to relish the fleeting time I had with this particular crop of kids, not realizing that I had a special group.
That I'm now a lord is only one small indication of how special they are. I always hope, at the end of the school year, that I can teach them something that sticks, something that matters to them. This year, in a way I hadn't anticipated and failed to fully appreciate at the time, they reciprocated the lesson.
I'm grateful for that.
Sincerely,
Lord Steven Dowdle
----
* It should be noted that Sealand is 0.0015 square miles, or about 42,000 square feet, which isn't enough space for a soccer field, which is closer to 64,000 square feet. Doesn't keep them from having a team, though.