A note to the jerk I listened to

The last thing that would come out of my mouth when facing this person is “thank you”, or any form of gratitude, really.

In fact, as my hands hover over the keyboard, preparing to write this thank you letter to him, I shudder at the thought of expressing my thanks, although I suppose he does deserve it.

I despise his bright yellow jacket, his enjoyment in teasing children, and the fact that saying “thank you” will only feed his egotistical demeanor.

I mean, who pretends to shoot himself in the head when you don’t get a math concept as fast as he wants you to?

Summer break used to be a time meant to goof off and count down the days until the first day of school, until one fateful day.

When I met him, the crazy man that my mother entrusted me to for guidance, he promised me that I will grow to hate him—which I did—but that he will push me to the best that I can be—which he has.

Every single day of summer break was spent reading books on the freshman and sophomore reading list and creating AP book reports on them.

I could hardly enjoy a day of my summer break before freshman year, but when I started my first year of high school, I found out that the work from the summer before helped cut down the time I needed to study.

Upon meeting him for the first time, I was introduced to the Wall of Success, a whiteboard outlining each student’s high school career based on their personal interests and goals.

We spent a good hour soul-searching, and I realized that music was an important part of me.

With this information, we made a schedule for freshman year that incorporated music in it.

Within the course of a year, I could see how much I changed, how much I improved since I started high school as a quiet girl who would never have joined anything except the school orchestra, to a varsity athlete, journalist, and an Ivy League-trained writer.

But why him? Why did the person who helps me have to be a jerk that makes saying “thank you” hard?

Maybe it was what I needed.

Maybe that mix between callousness and genius was necessary to push me beyond what I thought I could be.

If nobody had chastised me everyday for not working on the drafts for the Columbia University summer program, I would never have written multiple drafts of it, and maybe not even have gotten accepted at all.

Afterall, friendliness could only get me so far.

So I suppose it’s only right to say this to him, no matter how hard it is to say:

Thank you.