Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
I've been writing this letter to you for about three weeks now, but I always seem to set it aside or toss it out. I can't begin to describe this place to you. You'd think I was crazy. I think I'm crazy for believing half of the things that go on in any given school day. I took this job expecting a quiet break from Crabapple Cove. You said yourself that a change of scenery would do me good. You were right, as usual, but quiet doesn't quite cover it.
The island is beautiful. It's like one of those charming little French places you see in the magazines or hear about in stories. It is, for all extents and purposes, a quiet little town. It's only when you scratch the surface that you see what this place is really like.
The kids here are great, Dad. Worldly. Eager. Unique. You have your leaders and your jocks and your smart kids. What surprises me most about this place is that the leaders and the jocks and the smart kids aren't afraid to drop their differences and team up when they're facing something bigger than their schoolyard squabbles. It's a far cry from Crabapple Cove High, that's for sure. Even the gang from the 4077th could have learned a lot about team work from these kids.
I almost put the note pad and pen down again, Dad, because I'm afraid of what I might write. I'm afraid of what I'm coming to realize about this place. While the classes go on and people go through the motions of daily life, there's something growing underneath it all.
I can't put my finger on it, but it gives me the same feeling that I had when there was a cease fire called in Korea. That feeling of hope that the peace will last and of dread knowing that it's only a matter of time before another kid with his insides on the outside ends up on my operating table counting on me to save his life.
I came here to work at a school, Dad, but I think I've found myself in the middle of another godforsaken war.
Give my best to everyone. Until later, Dad.
Your son,
Hawkeye
I've been writing this letter to you for about three weeks now, but I always seem to set it aside or toss it out. I can't begin to describe this place to you. You'd think I was crazy. I think I'm crazy for believing half of the things that go on in any given school day. I took this job expecting a quiet break from Crabapple Cove. You said yourself that a change of scenery would do me good. You were right, as usual, but quiet doesn't quite cover it.
The island is beautiful. It's like one of those charming little French places you see in the magazines or hear about in stories. It is, for all extents and purposes, a quiet little town. It's only when you scratch the surface that you see what this place is really like.
The kids here are great, Dad. Worldly. Eager. Unique. You have your leaders and your jocks and your smart kids. What surprises me most about this place is that the leaders and the jocks and the smart kids aren't afraid to drop their differences and team up when they're facing something bigger than their schoolyard squabbles. It's a far cry from Crabapple Cove High, that's for sure. Even the gang from the 4077th could have learned a lot about team work from these kids.
I almost put the note pad and pen down again, Dad, because I'm afraid of what I might write. I'm afraid of what I'm coming to realize about this place. While the classes go on and people go through the motions of daily life, there's something growing underneath it all.
I can't put my finger on it, but it gives me the same feeling that I had when there was a cease fire called in Korea. That feeling of hope that the peace will last and of dread knowing that it's only a matter of time before another kid with his insides on the outside ends up on my operating table counting on me to save his life.
I came here to work at a school, Dad, but I think I've found myself in the middle of another godforsaken war.
Give my best to everyone. Until later, Dad.
Your son,
Hawkeye