To the theatre:
I was looking through my sister's old yearbook today. 2008. It was the last year before Adam started teaching. I looked at a lot of things, but I gravitated towards the Theatre Society and Improv and Debate pages. And there were these people I had heard stories about but had never met, names that were familiar from when my sister was my age. And I realized that it was stories of these people and the people who came the year after them that made me want to do theatre. They all looked so happy, their smiles and enthusiasm and excitement forever preserved on glossy, 11" x 8.5" paper. I looked at all of their smiling faces and all I could think was, "When did theatre stop being FUN?" When did this small, tight-knit group of people become so big and hateful and judgmental. Why do I not get to experience the theatre as a friendly, happy place to spend my time. What changed.
To a teacher:
I know that you have your shining star, your stage manager, and that you and her have your routine. I also know that I will never live up to her, but I need you to give me the chance to be great. Give me the same credit that you give her and know that I won't let you down. Know that I am as reliable and good as she is and even though I will never be her, that doesn't mean I am inadequate.
To a boy:
You're kind of a douche bag, but you know that. I kind of hate you sometimes, but you know that too. What you don't know is that you're better than you think you are. Because I know that, under that confident, douchey bravado, sometimes you're insecure. But I know that you are talented and intelligent and decent. And I'd kind of like to kiss your face.
To my favorite senior:
I don't know if I could have made it through the final weeks of Peter Pan without you there to listen to my rants and always take my side whether or not you knew the whole story. I became friends with you faster than I had become friends with anyone before and I can honestly say that you are one of my favorite people. I think I'm going to miss you desperately when you graduate in less than a month. I honestly believe that you will do great things, even if you don't believe it yourself. I love you a whole lot.
To the juniors:
Part of me doesn't want to do Tarzan next year because I know that doing that show means saying goodbye and I'm not sure I'm ready to do that yet. In fact, I'm sure I'm not ready for that. You are the ones who have kept me sane and have given me a reason to go into the theatre. You've been there to hug me without question when I'm crying and you've taught me so much about life and myself and theatre in general. I don't know where I would be without all of you and I don't want to know. I love you all so much. You'll be great.
To a friend:
Thank you and I'm sorry.
