Dear Mrs. V

Dear Mrs. V,

After 40+ years, this thank you letter is long overdue. I recently started writing fiction and was chatting about it with a good friend at happy hour. When I mentioned your name as a major influence, he interrupted me.

“Have you told her?”

I just stared at him — the only answer I had was the wrong one.

So, here we are. A long overdue thank you note.

I transferred into your class halfway through my sophomore year. Having come from a very small junior high, I didn’t know many other kids, and I certainly didn’t know many people in your class. It was an English Honors class and it seemed that everyone had been there a while. I felt out of place.

You had us reading books and talking about them. I hadn’t really done that before and it opened up a new world to me. I discovered the Lord Of The Rings trilogy in my folk’s bookshelves and devoured them.

I remember a few of the book titles we covered, but after this long, I don’t remember much of the content. I remember “loss of innocence” and “coming of age” being common themes. Given our ages, that seemed appropriate.

The detail of your classes are lost to the years, buried into the foundation of my subconscious. The sense of wonder about books. The sense that writing and communicating was an admirable thing. And that all that could be fun.

I was fortunate enough to have grown up in a house full of books. I discovered my dad’s science fiction collection and was hooked forever. My reading is wider than just that, in large part because of your classes.

There is one last gift that you gave me — although I am pretty sure it was unintentional.

When we were seniors in high school, my two best buds decided they were going to small liberal arts colleges. Me? I was choosing engineering down at Madison.

Your interest in their choices and your lack of interest in mine was, I now understand, because it matched your interests. Unfortunately, at that time, given my high school/college view of things, I took it personally.

It left a chip on my shoulder that I’m sure was not your intent.

That chip turned into an inner voice driving me to be more literary. Be more of a reader. Be more of a writer.

But I wasn’t the literary type. I was a science fiction type. I was an engineer. I was an IT guy.

I wrote a lot in my career. Emails, documentation, reports, proposals, etc. Outside of work, it was the occasional notebook scribbles, usually terrible lyrics or derivative story ideas.

However, one thing a career in IT taught me was that I could learn things. Learn new skills. Improve.

So when I retired, I decided to become a writer. That’s a journey for another post. The point here is that you were a major factor in that decision. Not intentionally, not consciously. Just a seed planted many years ago that germinated a long time.

Unfortunately, too long ago. Word got to me that you had died. Location and commitments meant I couldn’t make the funeral.

I’m sorry I didn’t send this earlier.

— John