Thank You Notes

Every month, one of my little chores is to check the volunteer roster and determine who has an anniversary (for lack of a better word). These crazy folks have stuck with the program WAY beyond the requested three months and have been tutoring English as a Second Language for a year. Or years. Or even many years.


Without a cadre of dedicated volunteers our school could not function, so I write thank-you notes to the tutors who are marking off the years like this. January is a huge month for note-writing, leading me to the theory that tutors who start volunteering because of some New Years resolution have more tenacity. A whole bunch of our power hitters started tutoring in January. I will have writer's cramp. I will sit in meetings listening while writing thank-you notes for a couple of weeks. It gets a little monotonous:

Dear ____,


I just want to drop a line to thank you for your dedication to our...blah, blah, blah... We are glad that you are having a positive experience and hope that, blah, blah, blah...

With many thanks and best wishes,

Kate


Often, these polite little notes are not really expressing everything that I want to say. In my secret mind, I imagine how they would be: the REAL thank-you notes:

Patrick A. (2 Years): Thanks for coming all the way down from Bountiful, Patrick! And thanks for getting your father involved as well. You two make a great team. Thanks especially for being a lifeguard at the pool in Farmington. You're a major hottie, and it embarrasses Becca that you always seem to be working when she's there swimming laps. "He's seen me in my goggles!!!"


Richard C. (3 years): Thanks for your great attendance, even when you're really busy refereeing soccer all summer. We also appreciate the food drive you did for us at your job last year. And for being so amusingly absent-minded and gormless. Remember that time when you forgot and didn't show up? Becca called you to find out what had happened. You thought long and hard and asked, "Wait. Was I...not there?" Nope, not that time.


Shelby H. (3 years): Thanks for having that little dinner party at your house last summer so your students could see your home and meet your family. They each brought something to eat and had a ball. You rolled out the red carpet for them and those ladies are still talking about it.



David L. (8 years): Thanks for still enjoying it, even after being assigned to me for all these years. Thanks for offering me bites of that nasty vegan shit you always eat before class. Thanks for coming to my house to hang out; and for going to the movies with me sometimes; and for trying to get me to meditate; and for dancing with me at all dance-worthy occasions. We both suck at partner dancing and step on each other toes. Our students smirk...but when I ask you to dance with me, you always say yes.


Dean M. (6 years): Thanks for the pointers on how to prune my peach tree. And thanks for returning after you quit and said you "needed a break". You never complained, but I sensed that you didn't get on well with the teacher who was supervising you. After she quit, I sent you a letter and casually mentioned her departure. You called me up the following week and told me you had had "enough of a break". Welcome back.


Max S. (10 years): You don't know it yet, but in a couple of weeks I'll be surprising you with a gi-normous carrot cake to celebrate your 10th year at Guadalupe. I owe you so much, Max. It's not just that you'll tutor the very hardest students and love every minute of it for a decade. But I know that you make fat contributions every year. (Yeah, yeah: "anonymous". I know, though.) When your son overdosed, I thought maybe that was it; but you came back, and eventually, so did your smile.


Bill S. (5 years): Thanks for being my super-flirtatious boyfriend and giving me lewd and lascivious looks.


Gail B. (14 years): Hah, Gail, I saved you for last, because you hate being thanked! Here, I can thank you lavishly, and YOU WILL NEVER KNOW. Take that! You have worked directly with me all these years, and have been prickly in the extreme the whole time. But I know your dirty little secret: you love us. Sooo... thanks for hauling yourself down here in every weather, even though it takes you over an hour each way on public transit. Thanks for sticking with it as your MS has become progressively worse. Thanks for letting me warm your hands with mine even though I know you don't like to be touched. You and I the only ones who have been around long enough to remember that, when you started here, you were healthy. Thanks for bringing your mother down to tutor when she visits from New Jersey. Thanks for bringing your sister when she visits from Seattle. Thanks for the large annual donation that I know you can't afford. And for the garden cuttings. And for an occasional cup of coffee, which we enjoy while you criticize me. And for scaring the hell out of your students when they are lazy. All those burly drywall hangers and landscapers and construction workers quake in their steel-toed boots at the scolding they will get if they are not in their chairs on time.


Remember the time you scared the hell out of me? Yeah, it's our (ahem) favorite story. I'll write it down.

Gail was late for class, and she is NEVER late. The phone rang and this hysterical lady was jabbering at me: "Do you know a woman named Gail? You need to get to the hospital RIGHT NOW! She was hit by a car! Her wheel chair is destroyed! Her legs are crushed! Oh, my God!!"

"What? WHAT?!? GAIL!!! WHAT HOSPITAL!?" I was in a panic. Then I could hear Gail in the background, sounding disgusted. "NO, NO, NO! Give me your damn phone. Kate! I'm going to have to miss tonight! I got hit by a car while I was changing buses. Just thought I'd better let you know. You'll need to..... find...... a.....substitute." Then she passed out. [Cue wailing sirens and imperative voices.] Yes, there was drama. I called all over the place and hung by the phone until late - finally one of her friends called at about 11:00. Sure enough: she had been hit by a car in a crosswalk while switching buses on her way to school. Motorized chair destroyed. Both legs broken, the worse break being the only leg she could still bear weigh on.

I was filled with dread on my way to the hospital the next morning. Gail is my rock. True, an... extremely...abrasive rock. But still, an excellent person to have in my life, just in case I thought I might actually whine about something. Pity the fool who whines in front of Gail. I didn't want to see Gail broken, and I didn't want her to see me seeing her, uh, broken. If you see what I mean.

Yeah. Well. The violins can stop playing right now. I walked into the room. She gazed up from the bed and held two fingers in the air. "Two weeks. I think I'm gonna need to miss a couple of weeks. Don't you give those guys to another tutor. You tell them I'll be back in two weeks." And she was. As mean as ever.

I love you, Gail. You have no idea how important you are to me, 'cause there is no way in HELL I could ever tell you without being told to get lost. Fine. Whatever. See you Thursday.