To the class of 2017, thank God

Megan Friel, Editor in Chief

This is an open letter to the class of 2017.

I want to begin this letter by introducing the fact that this is not a teary-eyed goodbye. This is not a fond reminder of all the “good times” we all pretend to share but never seem to recall.

This isn’t a thank you, but instead, a thank God. Thank God for the end of high school, which evidently means the end of hot, smelly gyms packed full with half of us desperately trying to throw together a makeshift dance in an hour while the other half giggle and watch. Thank God for no more class meetings, generously filled with murmurs or mimics not-so-silently judging plans or fundraisers weeks in the making.

Thank God for no more awkward silences while we watch as *anonymous* gets kicked out of Mrs. Sanders class.

Or Mrs. Litrocapes.

Or Mrs. Woodburys.

You know who you are.

Here’s to never forgetting, as much as I beg, the lyrics to my favorite songs now tainted with cheesy substitutes singing in my head, “Coming out of summer and we’re doing just fine…”

Thanks to you, class of 2017; Mr. Brightside will never sound the same.

Thank God for finally being able to leave our class prank page, freed from pictures of obscure foods irrelevant to our prank. They won’t be missed.

Thank God for no more Michael laughs, cheerily echoing to the other end of the hallway, piercing my ears while bringing a smile to my face all the same.

Thank God for an absence from morning trips up the dreaded sidewalk, made shorter by Gaby or Alex by my side to distract me from my shortness of breath, caused in part by talking and laughing, and in part by needing to work out.

Thank God for no more freezing Saturdays standing outside of Market Basket begging strangers for money, laughing with my fellow officers about how stupid we must look, (and trust me, we did).

Thank God for soon forgetting the smell of cafeteria food and B.O. that seem to cling onto my shirts now matter how much perfume I douse myself in, reminding me of the second home that seems to follow me everywhere.

But most of all, thank God for the end, because the end means soon forgetting the good, the bad, and the somewhere-in-the-middle that you, the class of 2017, have left me with. Thank God for the end, because the end means no longer having to dread saying goodbye, or dreading leaving everything I know to be thrown into something I’m blind to. Thank God I won’t have to endure another senior assembly/graduation/end-of-the-end ceremony filled with laughs thrown in amongst tears, for I’m an ugly crier.

And thank God I got stuck with this class. I wouldn’t have it any other way.