Vallie Lynn Watson recently guest-edited the inaugural issue of Blip Magazine and has work in or forthcoming in dozens of print and online literary magazines, such as Pank, Pindeldyboz, Staccato, Nano Fiction, Ghoti, and Moon Milk Review.

A Belated Thank You Note to John Hughes (February 20, 2011. Issue 25.)

September 25, 2009

Dear John Hughes,

In case you’d ever asked me to write an essay—no less than a thousand words—describing to you “who I think I am”:

In the fall of 2005 at the age of 31, I entered a three-year English/creative writing PhD program in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. You know how people say they’d only live high school all over again if they could do so knowing what they know now? I got to do just that.

I started the first year a bit terrified, didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, scared that everyone would catch on, would realize I really wasn’t qualified to be in a doctoral program. I wanted to hang with the cool kids and talk to the cute boys, but like Samantha Baker in Sixteen Candles, was intimidated and having an identity crisis. I made friends, sure, but we spent too much time on the bleachers at the dance.

As I rolled into year two, I settled into a Farmer Ted (Anthony Michael Hall’s The Geek, of the same movie) role. While this might seem a step down the traditional high school social ladder, remember that high school part II is an English doctoral program. The geekier the better. Farmer Ted was comfortable amongst his peers, being one of the guys, even—though I’d never bestow such an honor upon myself—“king of the dipshits.”

In July between my second and third year, I took a spill: pulled my bicep from the bone and tore the rotator cuff, and my right (write) arm was out of commission until December. Early on it was clear I wouldn’t be able to graduate in time, so I coasted through the third year, teaching a little, working at the magazine a little, hanging out. It’s not that I overplayed the injury—it was painful and debilitating—but it did allow for an easy year as kind professors were willing to extend, again, Incompletes. So it wouldn’t be fair to say I was Bueller-esque, and anyway I want to stick with the Sixteen Candles thread: year three I was clearly Long Duk Dong. The Donger was just along for the ride, ending up at parties in a magical foreign land (bear in mind I was on Lortab), everything going his way without him having to do anything much more than smile and nod.

The plan was to take my comprehensive exams September of my fourth year, and graduate that December. Thank goodness I was offered—in mid-August (I hadn’t done much studying for comps)—a year-long instructorship, allowing me to delay comps until March and graduate in May. I taught on the Coast campus, 90 minutes away, and between three days a week of commuting, taking classes, finishing papers, looking for jobs, studying for comps, etc., I was maybe distant, was left alone so that I could work, was focused on my goal, like Jake Ryan in pursuit of Sam. He was all-business, of few words, and accomplished what he intended to. That role ended March 13 when I passed my dissertation defense, then I fell back into Farmer Ted mode, driving the prom queen (well, Lindsay Walker) around in a convertible all hours of the night.

I graduated that May and taught over the summer, becoming more panicky over which Random U’s adjunct offer I’d take for the Fall, and again at the last minute was offered another semester’s Instructorship here. Am delighted, though had mentally geared up to start over elsewhere and be the new girl, start working through The Breakfast Club characters maybe.

I’m only three weeks into Year Five. It’s too soon to tell. Shades, not saying which, of Caroline (Jake’s girlfriend) and Jinny (Sam’s sister, the bride). I’ll settle for an easy, pleasant role like the dad (Paul Dooley). Sage guy. He advises his daughter to “Make sure he knows you wear the pants in the family.” (Then her eyes get big because that reminds her she’d just given her panties to a geek.) Whatever the case I’m glad for the chance to hang out just a little bit longer.

So it's sorta social; demented and sad, but social.

Thanks again, Mr. Hughes, and I’m sorry the essay is late. It happens. Ask Rick Barthelme.

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,
Lynn (brain, athlete, basket case, princess, criminal)