A Letter to You

Dear You,

You are unaware of the impact you have had on me. You probably don’t even remember me. But I remember You.

In those days I was just a kid, concerned with popularity, trying to fit in, not really giving a thought as to what my aspirations were. And yet, You saw right through me. You saw my potential and led me to believe that there was hope for achieving my dreams.

You worked with me on my writing and you wrote me reccomendation letters for universities that I never attended. You gave me books to read, books that I hated at the time but love now.

I think about You sometimes. I still haven’t lived up to my dreams, but I am working on it. I write almost everyday and I think of You often—think of the influence that You had on me.

I went through a lot that year. During that time, I stood idly by as the other students made fun of You and spoke about how mean You were. How You were a terrible teacher and spread horrible rumors about You. All the while knowing they were wrong. I should have said something. I should have stood up for You… I’m sorry.

During that time I was a punk, and still You saw that tell tale spark. Do You remember reading to us “The Tell Tale Heart”?

I regret who I was but not who I am. I am growing everyday and I like to think that You would be happy for me. Proud of me even. What You taught me is ingrained in my head, with every paragraph I write I try to think about how You would percieve it, what errors You would point out and dash through in that signature red pen. The comment at the top of the page scrawled “You can do better than this, but it’s a decent first rough draft.” Even my best work was never at it’s best, not until You helped me revise it.

You always pushed me to do better, not just for my grades but because You just wanted me to excel and to always strive to pursue my dream of becoming a writer. I will become a writer, a published writer. One day. And on that day I will finally reach out to You. Until then, I resort to this.

I am a reader because of You. In your class I read “The Jungle.” I have never despised a book so much, but it did give me a new perspective. We read “The Tale of J.Alfred Prufrock,” and that poem is my favorite still to this day. I can recall portions of it from memory, and I revisit it from time to time to reflect on the good old days of being in the tenth grade analyzing poems. Are the curtains really blue? I’ll never know, but I suppose it is up to interpretation. Everything is up to interpretation. How do You interpret this?

This is a letter to my high-school Language Arts and Reading teacher. You will never know how much you have inspired me, how your teachings have stuck with me, how I still write because of you. You instilled within me a basis for writing, and because of that I will be forever grateful. Thank You.

I wonder what You would think if You found this letter online. I don’t know what You are doing now, but I hope You are still teaching.

Sincerely,

Your Former Student

P.S. Just know that when I eventually publish my first book, your name will be in that dedication and acknowledgements, because YOU changed my life.