Before you grown-ups read this letter, a little context: I'm not a credentialed teacher. I'm a grad student and aspiring journalist currently pursuing my MS in Mass Communications. But I'm also a recreation leader at an after school program who, along with three other staffers, manages a classroom of 45 first- through sixth-graders at a public elementary school. 44 of my students are children of color.

Dear Students,

Yesterday, as you all know, was Election Day. We spent about half an hour doing what so many other classrooms across America did that day -- we held a mock vote. We scrawled the names of both candidates on the board, in red and blue to match the colors of their parties. Although a handful of you chose the red candidate, so many more of you chose blue. And she won our election in a landslide. All of you had very good reasons why you chose your candidate. As we discussed these reasons, it became clear that all of you -- even as elementary school children -- knew there was something different about this election. You knew that we could make history by choosing the female candidate. And you knew there was something extremely wrong with the male candidate.

“He’s a racist,” one of you yelled. And then yelled again after we told you not to.

You probably got the time out you deserved for talking out of turn.

“He says bad things about women,” said another one of you.

“He can’t be president because he says bad things.”

Your words put me at ease. I went to my class (because sometimes grown-ups have to go to school too) that night sure that your country -- your parents and guardians -- would do the right thing, would elect the right person. I was so excited to share with you the next day that your parents and guardians and I elected our first female president. I was so excited to share with you that we finally broke the glass ceiling. And then I was so excited to see your confused faces when you asked what a glass ceiling was -- and I was so excited to explain it to you. I was so excited to share with you what her win meant -- especially for so many of you young girls.

When I got home from class, I had already witnessed on big TVs that the man won Ohio. Then Florida. Then North Carolina. And then Pennsylvania. And then -- long after all of you fell asleep -- he won the election.

That next day is today. And I can’t share that news with you.

As I walked into our classroom today, I prayed that none of you would bring up the results. I wasn’t ready for the conversation we could have had. I was too disappointed, confused and angry to think about it. Luckily only one or two of you did. But I can’t imagine what some of your parents had to tell you when you woke up this morning. How they had to explain to you that we didn’t elect the first female president. That instead the “he’s a racist” and “he says bad things” man won.

I’ll say what your parents and guardians probably didn’t: We failed you.

One day all of you will understand why today was such a disappointment. A man, who has never considered your parents and guardians to be worthy of his attention, will now lead your country. Decide your future. How much you pay for college. What happens when you get sick. This man has decided that only some of you should succeed, and only if you think a certain way, act a certain way and look a certain way.

I walk to our campus every day knowing that our classroom doesn’t look like many of the ones in America. There are 45 of you, and 44 of you are children of color. You probably don’t know what that means yet, but one day you will. One day you will know why that matters (And you probably won't learn it through your school's history books. That's why reading is so important!). I’m proud our classroom is one of the most diverse in America (I know you know what that means. We discussed it!). That no matter what your parents and guardians disagree on, they can bring you to this safe space and trust that all of you will get along. And most of the time -- except maybe during dodegball -- all of you do.

This is the country we live in. But it’s also a country that your parents and guardians built. Our country wouldn’t exist without the hard work your parents and guardians put into building it. And believe me, they worked harder than any of us can ever imagine -- even harder than some of us grown-ups. They came from so many far-off lands to make sure you played in a playground better than theirs: from China, Mexico, Korea, India, Vietnam, the Philippines, Indonesia and so many other places in the world. They brought with them so many different faiths: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, agnosticism and atheism. All because they knew that America had a place for them. That they could sit together just like we do every day and talk and maybe play Freeze Dance with each other (playing Freeze Dance is probably just us though. We play way too much Freeze Dance).

Last night, our country elected a man who believes in none of those things.

Some of your parents are OK with that. Some of your parents are sad. I’m sad too. But if any of you have taught me anything, it’s that I can’t stop playing dodgeball when I fall down and scrape my knee. Not when so many other people are throwing dodgeballs at me. That I can’t stop doing my homework because my pencil broke. Instead, I stand up and sharpen it (That, students, is a metaphor. You probably don’t know what that is either, but by fourth grade you will.).

What I want all of you to know today, boys and girls, is that even though your next leader doesn’t care for many of your parents and guardians, that’s no excuse to not care for him. Caring for people is complicated, and you will learn how complicated it really is when you get older. Sometimes caring means tying someone’s shoes for them because they don’t know how. But sometimes it means disagreeing with someone. Yes, you can care about someone but still disagree with them.

I never dreamed of running a classroom. Once I graduate, I want to leave our classroom to chase my true dream of becoming a journalist. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like spending time with you all. I love our classroom. You have brought so many fun times here. I have taught you to be nice to each other, to stop bullying, to respect each other and to always follow your dreams. I’m not going to let our next president -- who believes people who look like you aren't worthy of your dreams -- change that. That’s why every day I’m going to show you that I care by disagreeing with him. That may sound confusing, but you’ll get it someday.

Tomorrow though, I need all of you to care for each other too. Tell your friends that bullying is wrong, that being different from each other is OK and that all of us can live together peacefully no matter what we look like or what we believe in. In many ways, you all show that to me already in the way you share you food (which by the way, is totally not allowed! So many of you have food allergies!), share your Pokemon cards and play on the playground together.

We grown-ups might have failed you, but there’s a chance you won’t. Show me that by caring for each other.

I don’t know what the rest of the school year has in store for us. Neither do your parents and guardians. But I know that tomorrow is a new day, and we have a ton of Freeze Dance to catch up on.

I know all of you care about that.

Stay awesome,

Lloyd