Dear Mr. Naegelin,
You'll be glad to know my mom and dad are doing fine. They're both retired and they golf as much as they want. My dad watches a lot of tv and likes it when my mom sits down and watches with him, though it's usually sports so she usually falls asleep. They're thinking about moving and so they've started cleaning their house, going through boxes, which leads me to the reason I'm writing this letter tonight.
The last time I went to see Mom and Dad, they had a couple of big boxes of stuff for me to go through. It was my old stuff-- papers, letters and photos, and a lot of bad poetry from high school. The most interesting thing I found was a folder from my senior year in your class.
You might be surprised at my next exclamation. Goddammit! You were the closest thing I've ever had to a mentor, and now that I realize how much you cared, and what a great teacher you were, you're gone. It's too late to express my thanks, too late to call you up and ask you to come over for dinner. It's too late to apologize. I was such a stupid young person. On your "Think Tests," I answered complex questions with flimsy, scarcely thought-out answers, using too many semi-colons and not enough substance. On your comments, you said as much, but always ended with an exhortation. You wrote "You're capable of so much." Why can't you still be here, so that I can try to deserve that encouragement? Why can't I discuss those philosophical questions with you now? Why didn't I care enough, why wasn't I smart enough to reflect on the nature of Good and Evil beyond "God is the ultimate measure"?
I'm infuriated, and not even engaged enough to cry.
I realize you were no saint, and I'm old enough now to appreciate that. In one of her songs, Laurie Anderson says, "When my father died, it was like an entire library had burned down." That's how I feel about you.
Come back!
Come back... please...
Help me achieve what I'm capable of, and let me tell you how grateful I am, and how much I love you for caring so, so much...
Sincerely,
Andy
1 comment:
Hear, hear. I found out that he had died about ten days before my dissertation director killed herself. I wish both of them were still alive; there are a lot of times when I would love to ask their advice.
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