Love Letter to a Former Student
You were my student four years ago when you were in your first semester of college. You despised me and made sure that hatred was known, but you also thought I was madly in love with you. Or maybe it was lust you thought I harbored. No matter.
Through some miracle, we made it through the semester and went our separate ways; somehow, I never was able to forget about you. And I know you never forgot about me. It’s a sad fact of life that teachers remain psychologically connected to the students who created the biggest problems, not the ones who were exceptionally good. But we are not just connected through our memories of one another; we are connected through our mutual intellectualism. You like to proclaim your braininess as loudly as you can, and I can never be too far away to hear you brag. Seriously… you brag that loudly. That’s what makes you so precious and lovable.
But I can also see your pain. Your student loans are dragging you down and your boasting has become muted by people asking you how someone so smart got so far in the financial hole. In the meantime, your mind has created an idealized vision of your college experience and you have grown to love me, the teacher you once abhorred. Or: you love my teaching, but probably not me. I sure hope you don’t love me; you’re not my type. (However, please send nude photos my way if you get a chance.)
You have to love me now because it’s all you have left. College is over for you and no one has to treat you like you’re special any longer. And you have to justify to yourself why you spent so much money for a fancy school. So while I used to be annoyed by you, I now pity you. This love letter is not to the student I once taught, but to the one who will someday have grown up. And you are growing up… finally. Sooner or later, you will be someone I might enjoy sharing a coffee with, but it is saddening to know that you won’t be 25 or 30 until that happens. College has kept you and your classmates as infants for too long. I really don’t enjoy sleeping with infants.
And I do hope you decide to share that coffee with me sometime. Pour it over my grave if it takes you that long to grow up; I’d prefer the coffee to the saliva you wished for once upon a time.
May our love continue to blossom!