Let's call this a goodbye letter.
I'm not talking about break-ups or suicides or death or even graduation. It's January and we'll always have the rest of our lives. I'm just trying to say goodbye.
Goodbye 2015. Holy crap. I still remember when I used to party like it was 1999 and I remember Y2K and it's like every year I just get older. I was born in the '70s and I wonder if you even know what that means.
Goodbye sophomores. All I teach is seniors now. And a couple of juniors who, if we were playing little league baseball, I'm sure someone would ask to see their birth certificate. #compliment
Goodbye my continually receding hairline.
Goodbye football. You broke my heart too many times this year. #LonePeak #sicTackticians #Utes #Vikings
(This next section is for me, not for you...don't bother reading it)
Some excerpts from my personal journal:
Saturday, 9/15/15: "It's movie night! We're watching Edge of Tomorrow. PG-13. None of our kids are 13 yet, btw. ... Things are going really well right now. Maybe I should knock on wood or something. ... THIS IS WHAT HAPPINESS FEELS LIKE."
Saturday, 10/17/15: "Holy crap. Varsity is undefeated (9-0). ... and the Utah game (they're undefeated too, and ranked #4 in the country). ... My fantasy football team is also undefeated, HOLY CRAP - is this the best year ever and I just don't know it yet?"
My fantasy football team lost in the playoffs on a Monday night when Ben Watson caught a last minute touchdown, and Blair Walsh just missed a 27-yard game-winning FG for the Vikings today, and I'm not even going to mention Lone Peak...
Who knows, maybe this was the best year ever.
Football is just a game. And school is just a game. And creative writing is just a game. And love is just a game. And everything's just a game when you think about it. All that really matters is that my kids want to watch Once Upon a Time tonight, so I need to finish this letter soon.
I love my job. I love creative writing. When I see former students and they invariably ask me "How's creative writing" I say "Good" and I mean it. I'm not just saying good like when people ask me in the hall how are you and I say good and I'm not really good but I just say good so we can keep on walking our separate ways. I ACTUALLY MEAN IT.
This isn't a poem, this is a letter.
I'm sorry for not teaching you how to write. I just taught you to write. There's a difference. I don't know
how to write. But I know how to
write. You know what I'm saying? I know how to sit in front of a blank screen and type how I feel. I know how to write a screenplay. A play. A poem. I know how to write the first draft of a novel that I may never finish. I know how to write a blog post. A Master's Thesis. A business e-mail. I'm sorry if I didn't give you the cheat codes to whatever you wanted to write this semester. I promise they're everywhere if you look for them. You'll find them in college. You'll find them on the internet. You'll find them in the library.
I hope you discovered magic this semester. I hope you felt inspired. I hope you tried not to be a tourist. I hope you'll try to keep figuring it all out.
And so will I.
Sincerely,
Kyle Nelson