To My English Teacher

I walked into your English class first thing on my first day of my freshman year. I had you first block on A days. I remember we played a game so we could help remember each other's names. In the game we had to come up with an adjective that started with the same letter at our names. At the time, I couldn't think of one that started with a K so I was "caring Kayla".

My freshman year progressed as normal. I remember doing a lot of punctuation worksheets and we took spelling tests of the most commonly misspelled words. Stuff like that. We moved then to short stories. I remember reading The Most Dangerous Game and the Scarlet Ibis.

When we came back from Christmas break Freshman year, we all found out that you were pregnant, and we watched you belly slowly get bigger, and we were there to be excited when you found out you were having a boy. We read Romeo and Juliet that year. I remember you'd always be to explain to us every day what certain things in the play meant. I learned a lot from that unit. After Romeo and Juliet, we read The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. We read about the story of Ponyboy and Johnny and whatever all the other characters' names were. On top of that, you pushed us to become faster readers so we'd be ready for the ACT. You taught us how to read for information. I cannot tell you how thankful I am for all that pushing you did for us to become better readers, because I am a slow reader and I would have been lost on the ACT if it weren't for all that practice.

The first quarter of my sophomore year, you were on maternity leave. You had just had your son Nathan at the beginning of August. You came back from the maternity leave on October 31st and as soon as you were back, we had to begin to write the dreaded research paper. It wasn't all that bad. I got through it just fine. I didn't really like my topic as much as I thought I would. I did gay adoption. I got a C.

Second semester was mostly about reading. We had to read short stories. Ones that come to my head right away is The First Seven Years and The Lady and the Tiger. We had to write our own ending for that second story. Our novel that year was called Tuesdays with Morrie. We did this thing where everyone in our class read one chapter and we had to come up with worksheet for the chapter, and we read the chapter aloud to the class. My chapter was about family or something like that. We finished out the year by watching the movie. It had been another good year.

This year, I didn't have your class, but I had learned quite a bit from you and about you those first two years. I learned things like you liked Natalie Portman and crime shows. You once got a detention for stealing a pencil top eraser and another time because you were late for class one day. When you were in elementary school, you put a box of tissues on some kid's desk because he was sniffling too much. You had a younger brother. Your parents were divorced. Your niece asked you for an iPad for Christmas when she was six years old. Little mundane things of that sort.

Our school implemented this whole ACT prep stuff during homeroom times, and I remember going in a learning a few new things. English has always been my best subject. I remember one time these kids were skipping out on the ACT prep and you marched right down to library and asked them what they were doing. I also remember that when you said, "We'll swear next year." Something like that.

I remember seeing you at the Grand March for prom this year and you were holding your son.

Other than that, I never saw you other than passing by in the hallways. On Friday I saw you talking to one of the seniors as they turned in their research paper at the last minute, but that was all.

I was sitting in English class today and we were watching the movie Speak when there was an odd announcement.

The secretary said, "All high school teachers please report to the library."

We all thought that was strange and spent a good deal of time speculating what was going on instead of watching the movie. We saw cops out in the hallway and apparently there were police cars in front of the school. We thought that they were doing a drug search or something.

With about 20 minutes left of class Mr. Welty, my English teacher now returned. We asked him what was going on.

"There's no easy way to say this. It'll be hard on you guys," he said and was silent for a few moments before continuing, "Mrs. Kamp was in a car accident and she didn't make it."

It was at that moment that everyone's jaw dropped and their hearts fell straight to their knees. As soon as he said it was hard to explain, I knew it was because someone died, but I never would have expected it to be a teacher.

He told us that he'd be here for us and that counselors were coming from other schools that would be here to talk to us if we needed to. A priest also showed up, but I don't know how many people actually went to see him.

Mr. Welty left the room for a few minutes and I heard exclamations of, "Holy shit," and "That's so fucked up." Everyone was shocked.

Mr. Reece, the history teacher told us that some students were gathering in the library if we wanted go. All of us went. The seniors, whose last day was on Friday had all been called back to school to hear the news and they were all in the library.

Today I saw boys, even some of the toughest boys crying. I saw nearly every teacher crying and a lot of students. The school allowed us to go home if we called our parents and said it was okay. I had to call my mom at work. I broke down crying as I explained to her what had happened. 

I came home and I sobbed. I don't know how long it's been since I cried as hard as I did today.

I remember my world history teacher, Mr. Pearce, told us last year about the first student he had that died at the school he used to teach at. He told us that as teachers, they all know that at some point in their career, one of their students is going to die. What about when our teachers die? That's not supposed to happen. Our teachers aren't supposed to die until after they've retired. But apparently that's not the case.

It's so unfair that this had to happen to you. You were so friendly. You always had a smile for everyone. You cared so much about your students and wanted all of them to succeed. You have a 21 month old son that is going to have to spend the rest of his life growing up without a mother now. It's so unfair.

I'll never forget you. None of us ever will. This tragedy has brought out a side in a lot of people that we never would have seen. Hundreds of people shed tears for you today and hundreds of people are going to remember you for the rest of their lives. All of us would give anything to bring you back. Next year is not going to be the same without you teaching English.

We'll try our best to move on, but this last week of school we have left, may be one of the toughest a lot of us will ever face. We hope you had a safe journey to wherever it is that you are now and that you're in a much better place.

Rest in Peace
Sarah Kamp

April 9, 1981 - May 20, 2013

My family

I don’t care if my family finds this and puts a bullet through my laptop like that one guy did. I honestly do not care any more.

On Thursday, my family told me to go get my eyebrows waxed and told me to come back to my grandma’s when I’m done. I did that. When I got back all 5 of my cousins were there and we had to open our Easter presents. Then they made me try on this prom dress in front of everyone, which was embarrassing.

Side rant: My family has been absolutely fucking psychotic about this damn prom dress thingy. They wanted me to go shopping in the suburbs at Nordstrom and blah blah blah. Well, there’s no way I’m going to be able to do that so what’s their solution? Order a shit ton of dresses from the Nordstrom website so I can try them on anyways. Seriously. Cool it. It’s prom.

Back on topic. Well, after I tried on the dress, I changed back into my regular clothes. Then we had to take a picture with all my cousins. Let me tell you, taking pictures with my cousins is hell. None of them can sit still and none of them can not whine about it once. It’s annoying. Then we had to put the fucking dog in the picture. Prior to my family’s belief, that dog is not a person. He’s not part of our family so his ass shouldn’t be in the picture, but whatever.

Well, while the kids were squirming around and fighting with each other, one of them nearly pokes my eye out. I reached my breaking point. I was so sick of it, so I just said “I’m leaving.” and left.

I get home and I’m already feeling pretty shitty about myself because my family does a really good job of making me feel shitty about myself. I’m on the computer and my aunt walks in uninvited into my house, which is illegal, first off. I don’t care that she’s my relative, we never gave her permission to walk in there like that with no warning. If my mom had been there, I’m sure she would’ve had some objections to it.

She stands in my living room and was like, “What was that about? Why’d you storm out like that?”

I told her that I almost had my eye removed by some little kid’s finger. And I mean it. I don’t remember who hit me, but they hit me hard and if they would’ve been a quarter of an inch over to the left, they probably would’ve injured my eye.

And she goes, “You are fucking seventeen years old.” Side note: I’m not 17, I’m 16. I’m not even all that close to being 17. I’ll be 17 in 4 months. That’s still a long ways away. Then she’s all like “They’re little kids and their excited to see their cousins.”

Uh-huh. So that gives them an excuse to nearly take my eye out? I remember when I was about 6 years old, I accidently hit the next oldest after me in the face. He was like a year old. Completely on accident, and I got yelled at. I was told to get away from him and all that. That happened when I was 6. The youngest one is 3 and she was not the one that did it, so the rest of them have no excuse.

Then she told me about how rude I am and how disrespectful and ungrateful I am. She’s like, “Grandma paid for you to get your hair cut (side note: it was like a trim and I got bangs), she gave you that Easter stuff, she bought you those clothes, she paying for you to get shirts at the concert.”

First off, most of the clothes she bought me were shitty looking anyways. The only ones I liked were the pants and this pink T-shirt and the moccasins. The rest of them weren’t that great. Secondly, she did not have to give me money to buy shirts at the Green Day concert. I have a Green Day shirt already and I told her that, but she insisted. Thirdly, if she really wanted to, she could’ve taken back my Easter stuff because I really did not care at that point.

Well now I’m supposed to go on this whole thing where I should apologize to everyone. I’m sorry for the way I acted, but I’m not sorry for what I did. Seriously, I’ve been sitting back and putting up with their bullshit for years.

Firstly, their kids are rude as hell and I don’t say anything. I babysit and watch them and play with them usually without complaint. I mean, I do love them, but they’re not very nice to me. They probably don’t love me. They probably never even think about me. They hit me, they kick me, they’ve bitten me, they’ve tackled me, they’ve pulled my hair. I remember at one of their birthday parties there were like 10 little boys on top of me and I was screaming bloody murder for help. Nothing was done about it. I didn’t get a single apology. They don’t listen to a single word I say to them. I ask them to stop doing it and they don’t listen. The only way they’d respond is if I hit them back. I can only imagine the hell that would ensue if I hit one of them.

Secondly, as far as I’m concerned no one besides my parents should have any say in what I wear. It’s none of their business. They seriously need to stop acting like I’m the strangest kid ever because I don’t wear colorful skinny jeans and boots and sweaters and what not. That’s not who I am. I like jeans, t-shirts, and sweatshirts. I don’t see what’s so wrong about it. It’s slightly offensive that every year we have to go on a shopping spree to correct my wardrobe. I also do not need to put on ten pounds of make-up every day in order to feel pretty. I’m pretty content with the way I look normally, actually. I know. How dare a modern woman be content with her appearance. What I don’t like can’t be fixed with make-up. I’m going to need plastic surgery.

Thirdly, it’s none of their business what I want to do with my life. My aunt and uncle think that they can tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do with my life. I appreciate the advice, but at the end of the day, you’re not going to have any say with what I do with my life. It’s not your decision to make. They want me to go to a 2-year school and get a degree in radiology and whatever. It’s none of their business. I remember on my birthday, my aunt asked me about what I wanted to do and I told her psychology and she want on like a 10 minute rant about how terrible of a decision that was and how I would work at Taco Bell for the rest of my life and whatever. She did this to me on my birthday and I started crying. I don’t believe for one second that she’s sorry for what she did. She’s probably like, “Good, now that I’ve destroyed all of her hopes and dreams she’ll go down a more suitable path.”

Well, good news. I don’t want to do that anymore, but I sure as hell am never going to do radiology just because that’s what she wants. So here I am, only a couple of months away from having to make super important decisions like that and I have no idea. So congrats. Your plan worked out perfectly, didn’t it?

Seriously. My family has no idea the hell they put me through. I break down crying whenever I have to do things with them because I’m so afraid they’ll criticize me. And it doesn’t matter, because I’m always the bad guy and I need to bed to their every whim in order to be accepted. They only criticize me about everything.

Honestly, I’m so upset about this last fight, I’ve legitimately considered killing myself. I’ll probably never do it, but I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about laying down on train tracks. I’ve thought about jumping out in front of traffic. I’ve thought about cutting myself. I’ve thought about starving myself. They’ll probably never even care. Honestly, besides my mom, who would really miss me if I died? Who wouldn’t be able to sleep the night after finding out because they’d be crying the whole night? I just fucking want a family that will accept me for who I am stop trying to make me into something I’m not. I want to know with certainty that my family loves me no matter what, and I don’t know. I know right now my whole family is still mad at me over nothing. Literally, they’re like death glaring over this. They’re treating me like a piece of shit over this? Because I walked out of my grandma’s house without saying good-bye. That makes me feel so good. I’m just so sick of all of this bull shit.