Addressed to the graduating Patriot staff of 2014,

Look at the Heritage staff. See them holding hands and singing Kumbaya? Yeah, we never really had that warm, fuzzy atmosphere, but then again, that wasn’t what we signed up for. Maybe this is just end-of-the-year sentimentality, but I think we had something better.

There’s something to be said for the stress, agony and instant gratification of writing for the school newspaper. You are each gifted writers and splendid photographers in your own right, but everyone already knew that. What I’ll miss most and what I wish to commemorate with this letter are the moments when it wasn’t the newspaper that had everyone’s attention, but instead, your unique personalities.

Chipping in cash when Miguel ordered pizza when he was in charge for the day. Watching Kim Possible and Between Two Ferns when no one was looking. Those days when we had everything to do, but we did nothing at all. I was only a small part of your big moments here in Room 195, yet I won’t forget them just the same.

I won’t forget playing mafia and drinking coffee out of the mug Rachel got me for secret Santa.

I won’t forget Griffin’s Buddy the Elf costume.

Or awkwardly standing at the front of the room with the singing birthday hat while the rest of the class clapped out a sporadic, “This is your birthday song. It isn’t very long. HEY!”

I won’t forget feeling as if the Earth collapsed every time someone made the grievous error of sitting in a chair that wasn’t usually theirs.

Or hearing, “Trivette, have you finished your rough draft?” at least once a month.

And I’m not sure I’ll ever forget Calvin’s daily speech of “Uh yeah, I don’t have anything else to add, guys, so just get in the back room and work on your stories,” that I have almost completely committed to memory.

It was here in the back room with those awesome couches, the wall of Ethan Stone, and that damn mouse without the scroller where I found a family in 5th hour. Maybe it wasn’t always a happy, feel-good kind of family, but it was a loyal one. I learned quickly that the Patriot was a family where respect was earned and never given away freely. We were dysfunctional, inaccessible, and often unpleasant, but despite it all, we were equals, and through missed deadlines and short cycles, we were in it together.

This is your typical end-of-the-year letter to the seniors as much as it is a letter congratulating you for not killing each other. I know I didn’t have a major impact on any of your lives, but I hope you’ll end the year knowing that you made a large impact in mine. I’ll miss you all and the moments you were a part of, knowing that the chances I will encounter either ever again are very slim. With next year’s staff by my side, I’m already looking forward to the next volume of the Patriot.

There are more deadlines to pass.

More pizza to be eaten.

More stories waiting to be told.

So, uh yeah, I don’t have anything else to add, guys, so I’ll just get in the back room and work on my stories.

Warmest regards,

Emily Wilkinson