Room 114 - Sunrise Sunday Morning
Dear Dad,
I've decided that I need to write a letter to you every week now. Whenever I leave it too long, something big happens and I find myself patching together kids who have gone and got themselves into trouble. And it's the same kids, Dad, bar a few here or there. Whenever something big happens here, they never think to come to an adult. They take on the responsibility themselves without any second thought. It's an admirable quality, you'd think, but it worries me when they do their job but come home in pieces.
This time wasn't as bad as the ones in the past, but if this is a regular occurrence, and these kids go out and play soldier, one day they're not going to come back, or if they do, I'm not going to be able to fix them. That's what worries me, Dad, but what worries me even more is that there isn't a thing I can do to stop them. On the one hand, there's no doubt that they'll contribute to their society in ways that the alumni of Crabapple Cove High School never had a chance to, but on the other hand it's hard to watch them - these amazing young men and women - face the impossible alone. It's not easy to sit idly by and let that happen.
The night is nearly over and everyone bar one is alive and well. That 'bar one' is now in the local clinic, still unconscious, and I'm not sure if she'll ever wake up. I know what it's like to lose patients, and to lose them young, but it's different when it's one of your own. I know she's not my patient anymore, but she - they - still feel like my responsibility, not because I'm their Vice Principal, but because I want them to be. I can't explain it, Dad, and that bothers me almost as much as what happened tonight.
I have to go now, Dad. The sun is coming up over Fandom and the show must go on, even if it was almost the final closing curtain last night. Again.
Give my best to everyone.
Your son,
Hawkeye
I've decided that I need to write a letter to you every week now. Whenever I leave it too long, something big happens and I find myself patching together kids who have gone and got themselves into trouble. And it's the same kids, Dad, bar a few here or there. Whenever something big happens here, they never think to come to an adult. They take on the responsibility themselves without any second thought. It's an admirable quality, you'd think, but it worries me when they do their job but come home in pieces.
This time wasn't as bad as the ones in the past, but if this is a regular occurrence, and these kids go out and play soldier, one day they're not going to come back, or if they do, I'm not going to be able to fix them. That's what worries me, Dad, but what worries me even more is that there isn't a thing I can do to stop them. On the one hand, there's no doubt that they'll contribute to their society in ways that the alumni of Crabapple Cove High School never had a chance to, but on the other hand it's hard to watch them - these amazing young men and women - face the impossible alone. It's not easy to sit idly by and let that happen.
The night is nearly over and everyone bar one is alive and well. That 'bar one' is now in the local clinic, still unconscious, and I'm not sure if she'll ever wake up. I know what it's like to lose patients, and to lose them young, but it's different when it's one of your own. I know she's not my patient anymore, but she - they - still feel like my responsibility, not because I'm their Vice Principal, but because I want them to be. I can't explain it, Dad, and that bothers me almost as much as what happened tonight.
I have to go now, Dad. The sun is coming up over Fandom and the show must go on, even if it was almost the final closing curtain last night. Again.
Give my best to everyone.
Your son,
Hawkeye