Dear Mom and Dad, 1/12/26
I write to you from the front lines. They promise that I’ll return home in March, but for now, the time until then seems like insurmountable light-years. Oh, how I miss you so. The quarter has just begun, yet I already feel as though I am losing memory of your faces. As I pen this letter from the glass-barred barrack named the “Quiet Room,” others and I fear for what is to come. Already, there are battles to fight on all fronts—science in Baker, math in the Shattuck basement, and language in Henderson—and this is just the beginning. While the going has already gotten tough, the tantalizing peace and joy of March 13th sharpens my determination. I hope to see you soon, but for now, I wish you my dearest goodbye and ask for your well-wishes.
Love,
Your son
Dear Mom and Dad, 2/18/26
This war is not over, not even close. This has become a battle like no other. New weapons of intense power are being deployed on these lines, and we’ve been scrambling to figure out how to respond. We have been hit with lab reports, referendums, and essays with a minimum word count of a caliber most cruel and inhumane. It seems as though the teachers spent their winter breaks planning these novel, ferocious attacks. This morning, as I glanced through my three-page to-do list, I closed my eyes and began to hear birds chirping, smell salt water carried by a gentle breeze, and feel the warmth of a non-New England sun on my face. I emerged from this daze with an emboldened resolve to win the war and return home a survivor. I am tired of working all day and through the night. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. I fear for my life, but I know this is a battle worth fighting.
Love,
Your son
Dear Mom and Dad, 3/9/26
Have you ever seen a man skip assembly just to study? Have you ever seen a teacher assign three assessments in one week? Have you ever seen a senior finish an essay in the lunch period before it is due? These past few weeks have been shocking and horrifying. Oh, how I miss you and how I miss sleep. Alas, it will be just a few more days before I may take my leave back home. Yet, these days feel oh so very long, and eyes feel as though they are made of lead. I dream of another snow day, but I know the time for such luxuries is long gone. General Hall and her army of teachers have far too many assessments locked and loaded to afford days wasted on snowdays. I am counting down the hours until 3 p.m. this Friday, but that time seems almost mystical. I can hardly envision what it will feel like to finish fighting the final battles this week and return home to you. I feel as though I am going mad in these barracks. Students like zombies meander by me in a daze, and I imagine I appear just the same. The hours of sleep I could afford last night could be counted on one hand with four fingers. I fear I am going mad, but I can only hope that the prospect of salvation on the 13th will focus my mind and fortify my will. I’ll see you when the war is over.
Love,
Your son
This young man ultimately survived, overcoming the most difficult of challenges: completing the third quarter and returning home with his sanity intact. He reflected on the quarter in a later interview and said, “The key principle is to believe in yourself. I knew students — good students, at that — who we lost to that treacherous quarter simply because they didn’t know whether they had it in them.” It appears that from a battle like this, one can glean some wisdom, too.
