To My Homeboy

Dear Professor, Do you remember all those times I went to your office and cried? Sometimes [ok, every time] you were the first person I told things to. Not because I didn't trust anyone else, but because I knew you wouldn't bullshit me. But you did it a nice way, which was helpful. Do you remember all those times when I sat up front during Players? I always had fun sitting up front. I lied when I said it was because I didn't want to climb all the way into the back of the van. Do you remember that one time during Spring Break Tour when you told me if I didn't behave, you'd pull over and kick me out? And you actually pulled over, but it was so that everybody could pee? Yea. You were a douche for giving me a heart attack. But I still love you anyway. Do you remember when I said I was going to be homeless for a little bit, and you found me a place to live? There is no way in hell I could ever thank you enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Do you remember when you told me you weren't signing me up for Players the following year? And then you decided to hand that year over to someone else? As much as I wanted to punch you in the face for making me take a step in the direction I needed to, it was hard for me not to have that refuge. I cried after you told me that. I understand how hard it was for you to give up Players too. Every student hopes for a teacher like you. And the theatre program got you. Just know that every student you have thinks you're the greatest. When we talk about you behind your back, it's in awe. It's to say how awesome you are, and how much we appreciate the work you're doing. We laugh at the things you said during Players, or reminisce over trips we've had. So thanks, professor. Thanks for being fucking awesome. You're a good man, Charlie Brown. You're my homeboy. With the greatest respect, Spice.Wonder