Back-to-school season comes with a lot of preparation. Teachers are setting up classrooms, reviewing rosters, building lesson plans, looking at data, and trying to figure out everything they need to know about the students who are about to walk through their doors. But there is one thing that won’t be on any roster, report, or spreadsheet: their story.

Recently, I met a young student at the GEAR UP Youth Leadership Summit. She walked onto a stage in a conference ballroom full of people and began sharing in English. You could tell she was nervous. Then she stopped and explained that she felt more comfortable sharing her part in Spanish. She apologized for her English, asked the audience to bear with her, and then continued in Spanish.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had just watched.

When she came off the stage, I stopped her. I told her she didn’t need to feel bad about her English. I told her it would come. I told her she should be proud of what she had just done and that she made her family proud that day. Then I asked if I could give her a hug. She squeezed me so hard and started crying. I’m not going to lie, she messed me up.

I didn’t know the GEAR UP student’s whole story. I still don’t. But watching her immediately took me back to my own experiences moving between Mexico and the United States and struggling with language. It made me think even more about my mom and dad and what it must have been like for them to live somewhere where they couldn’t always communicate what they were thinking or feeling.

I wish more of us could experience what it’s like to go somewhere where we don’t know the language. Not being able to say exactly what you want to say. Not being able to express your excitement, gratitude, fear, or happiness the way you normally would. It’s uncomfortable. It’s frustrating. And for many of the students walking into our schools this year, that’s only one part of what they’re navigating.

That’s why, as we start another school year, I keep coming back to this: Every student has a story. We won’t know it until we build a relationship where they feel comfortable enough to tell us.

We don’t know everything that happened before that student walked into our classroom. We don’t always know what’s happening at home. We don’t know what their family has sacrificed, what they’re afraid of, or what they’re still trying to figure out. And we’re not going to learn those things by looking at last year’s test scores.

We learn them through relationships.

After meeting the GEAR UP student, I kept looking for her throughout the day. Part of me wanted to ask if we could FaceTime her family because I wanted them to know what I had seen. I wanted them to hear that their daughter was brave. That she represented her family well. That she was proud of her culture and her language. That even though she was nervous, she stood in front of that room and did it anyway.

That got me thinking about how we communicate with families in our schools.

We’re pretty good at reaching out when something goes wrong. Your child failed the test. Your child missed an assignment. Your child was late. Your child is struggling. Those conversations are sometimes necessary, but if that’s all a family hears from us, we’re only telling them part of their child’s story.

A student can fail an exam and still have worked incredibly hard. A student can struggle academically while showing tremendous courage. A student learning English can have difficulty communicating while also being a leader, a helper, a great friend, or the person who refuses to give up. The educator in me wants families to know those things too. Parents need to hear more than whether their child passed or failed.

Imagine what could happen if, during these first few weeks of school, a parent received a phone call that wasn’t asking them for anything.

“I just wanted you to know your daughter was brave today.”

“Your son helped another student who was struggling.”

“Your child kept trying even when something was difficult.”

“I really enjoy having your child in my class.”

Those conversations may only take a few minutes, but they change the relationship between the school and the family. Now, when you eventually do have to make the difficult phone call, you’re not introducing yourself through a problem. You’ve already started building trust.

And that relationship doesn’t require families to physically come into your school.

I talk about this all the time in my family engagement work: a family can still be engaged without showing up at the school. There may be work schedules, transportation issues, language barriers, family circumstances, or even safety concerns preventing someone from attending an event. That doesn’t mean they don’t care about their child’s education. We can call. We can text. We can send a video or voice message. We can meet virtually. And whenever possible, we can communicate in the language that allows that family to best understand us.

Family engagement isn’t about getting every parent through the doors of the school. It’s about making sure every family feels connected to what is happening inside of it.

I also know what educators might be thinking right now: Ernesto, when am I supposed to find time for all of this?

I get it. You’re being asked to teach the curriculum, prepare students for tests, hit benchmarks, collect data, complete paperwork, respond to emails, attend meetings, and somehow squeeze a few other things into your day. Sometimes putting relationships first means swimming against the current.

Self-esteem might not be written into your curriculum. Communication might not be on the test. Listening might not appear in your standards. Relationship building might not be on the pacing guide. But when we help students develop those things, they often become better learners too. They discover things about themselves they didn’t know they were capable of doing.

And years from now, when students think about the educators who made a difference in their lives, they’re probably not going to remember every lesson we taught them. They’re going to remember who saw them. Who listened to them. Who encouraged them to take the opportunity, get out of their comfort zone, or believe they could do something they weren’t sure they could do.

So as students walk through our doors this year, absolutely learn their names. Learn what they need academically. Learn where they’re struggling and where they’re excelling.

But don’t stop there.

Take the time to learn their stories. Create enough trust that, when they’re ready, they feel comfortable sharing those stories with you. And when you see a moment of courage, growth, kindness, resilience, or leadership, don’t let that story end in your classroom.

Make sure their family hears it, too.