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My Thank You LetterDear Instructor Lovas,
I had been meaning to write this for the longest time. I’ve been meaning to say, “Thank you.”
You know I have been performing ‘Spoken Word’ for a number of years. Yet through those years, the voice I was using was never mine. I have brought tears and joy to many other people. In the bar, on the corner, in class, at the bus stop, people would tell me how much they enjoyed my performance. And you know I love immediate gratification. But, I never truly understood what I was creating, why, or how. You taught me to enjoy the process of ‘bringing me’ to a page and engage a thought, completely. You taught me to believe that there is more behind the word than the letters that clutter the page. You gave me a voice, and the will to use it.
You and I spoke recently, and you asked me to write down something, “An instant in time.” You wanted an instant in time that we shared. I am choosing to give you two, out of many.
In ELIT-011, as a homework assignment, you asked for a critique of a poem of my choosing from our text. I chose the poem, “How Do I Love Thee,” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I had been hearing the opening of this poem since I was six in cartoons, commercials, plays, and jokes. And although I had an idea of the context, I had never actually looked at the content. Of course, I completed my critique. Of course, I did the very best I could. And with my arrogance, being a “poet”, I thought I had some deep understanding of the poem.
It took some time to get it back from you because you were grading about three classes worth of work. When you gave it back to me, you were so lackadaisical about it, just like any other teacher I learned from in high school. I turned it over and expected big red ink blotches, scribbles, and some off-hand comment about how I was reading too much into it.
I could tell, you had spent a very long time grading papers because your handwriting was terrible. I couldn’t read it, AT ALL!! I am not sure if you remember, but I had to speak to you after class to actually understand all the comments you made. You wrote very little. When I finally felt satisfied that I had understood what you wrote I went on about my day. But later that night I took another look at it. I ended up actually re-reading my own homework and the poem just to understand what you said.
In that moment, in dark, surrounded by noise and clatter, you were standing there, as if you just jumped off the pages. And I was there, working feverishly for an hour with you, tracking down ideas and letting your words point me in new directions and turning the pages. This is my favorite moment with you.
However, the status of that moment will not last very long. You and I are going to have another moment.
It will be a busy day. I will probably have people waving at me.
Everyone will be smiling. I’ll have some stupid hat on and a dress that
could fit me and four other people. Somehow, I am going to end up with
three pieces of paper. A Transfer Certificate to University of California
at Santa Cruz, an Associates Degree in Arts specializing in
Network Programming and a graded critique of some poem by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, neatly typed, with something resembling
black chicken scratches on it. And when I get all three of
these pieces of paper, I am going to turn and ask you if you are proud of me.
This will be my favorite moment with you.
Like skipping stones across the surface of a pond, my interaction with you has changed the way I move. And with your stone sinking into my depths, I am more. I would say, “Thank you,” but that feels so small. So, I will say, “I am, as I have been, your student, and friend.”
With hope,
James Taylor
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