A football player once called another football player a try hard and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.
Dear try not so hards,
This isn’t directed at
the athlete with no heart or
the sweet girl who never talks to anybody or
the rock climber who can't read or
the annoying girl who never listens or
the square in the sweater who acts like he’s smart or
the kid who’s only acting crazy because of what’s going on at home or
the girl in the middle whose name nobody knows
this is for all of you.
Open your eyes.
You see that X in the distance that seems to be getting closer and closer? It’s called graduation and the caps are in the mail.
I can smell gasoline all over this room,
y’all are coasting on fumes
and it’s making everyone high.
It’s not your fault
I know those pills you’re taking for ADHD and Senioritis aren’t working.
Blame
the doctors, the teachers, the astronauts you all wanted to be when you
were kids, blame the system. Blame me for taking away your crayons and
replacing them with worksheets, but blame yourself for not drinking any
water because you filled up on baby carrots. I just looked up
dehydration symptoms and saw all of your faces.
I
told you this would happen, it’s been happening since the 6th grade,
because tonight when I asked my 11-year-old how school was going he
said, “just trying to survive social studies” and he didn’t say “just
trying to survive social studies” he said
“just….trying….to...survive….social….studies” and I knew exactly what he
meant because I spent two hours with adults this afternoon and I was
just….trying...to...survive….social...studies.
Once upon a time you used to do more than just survive. You used to love
school. You loved learning new things. You drew pictures and brought
them home to put on the refrigerator. You swung on swings and talked
about how excited you were for tomorrow. You spelled excited
i-x-s-i-d-i-d because that’s what it sounded like and everyone was
always so proud of you, we’re so proud of you.
Now
you wear sweats to school and you only shower on Thursdays and
homework’s pointless and when am I ever gonna use this and Nelson plays
dope music but his class is a joke and can I go to the bathroom and
let’s go to Kneaders cuz attendance school is better than 2nd period and
I can’t believe Trump might be our new president and I got an A in that
class and I didn’t learn a thing and school doesn’t prepare me for life
because I don’t know how to pay taxes and I’ll figure it out next year,
I’ll figure it out next year, I’ll figure it out next year.
Or
I’m going on a mission so God will get me through next year and the
year after and then by then I’ll have it all figured out because that’s
what happens in your 20’s.
You’re alive on the weekends, but you’re dead on Monday. You’re dead on Tuesday, Wednesday, you’re dead on Thursday.
I’ve
been alive twice as long as you have and some Tuesdays I feel like I’m
twice as alive. I’m closer to a colonoscopy than I am to my senior year,
but I’m more alive than you are.
You’re
18, in the prime of your life, no bald spots or spare tires, your knees
don’t hurt and your back still works and I’m twice as alive as you are.
I have to repeat this three times because you weren’t listening the
first two times because you’re half-dead.
Your
brain’s still growing and mine’s shrinking, but it doesn’t matter if
you never take it out of your backpack. You got out of bed this morning,
but your heart kept hitting snooze. We’ve all known too many people
who’ve killed themselves, but how many people do you know who forgot to
stay alive?
So
give your autopilot the week off. Open your eyes, wake up your heart,
and take your brain out of your backpack. I’m done feeding you water,
I’m going to try gasoline.
Somebody give me a match.
