Dearest students,

On this, the celebration of the publication of the anthology of your writing, I’d like to take a moment—before this descends into the cheeto-snorting, chair-throwing, chaos-fest it inevitably will—to make a toast. If you could all raise your wee plastic cups of the Jolt Cola and Red Bull that your parents thought appropriate to send along with you for this 8:30AM party, let us acknowledge that which has brought this magnificent piece of work into being:

To your school administrators: who, despite more and more urgent messages on their voice mails; notes to their secretaries; desperate emails in the middle of the night; text messages; letters delivered by US Mail, FedEx, UPS, and courier; faxes, telexes, and one telegram; failed to respond to even the most basic questions of class room assignment, scheduling, teacher absence, or even of the plans of this very event. Your hands-off approach instilled in me exactly the confidence necessary to come into your school ready and able to meet the specific needs of your students. Bravo!

To your assistant principal: who, despite the above attempts at communication, was shocked to find me in one of your classrooms on my assigned day, and who, after my lovely conversation with the three burly security guards she called—and you should feel safe knowing such strong and conscientious men, with such pliable, firm, yet often gentle hands, are looking after your protection—asked that I immediately provide her with full lesson plans following EATM, COSEE, and NYSBOE guidelines, for each residency day. Huzzah!

To your teachers: who, sensitive to the challenges of teaching 29 seventh graders per class, knew instinctively the best way to support our partnership was to spend the 40-minute period texting, chatting with other teachers in the hall, or simply leaving the room for vast swaths of time with neither warning nor explanation, so that I could most effectively implement my pedagogy. L’chaim!

To your parents: who had the good sense to supply you not with pencils and paper for your day at school, but something far more necessary: a cell-phone/PSP/boom box. Without this, we all know how difficult it would have been for you to achieve the momentous work captured in these pages. Chin chin!

To my own administrators: ever vigilant, who assigned me a residency so well-served by our city’s public transportation network: a mere four trains, two buses, and 20-minute walk was all that was necessary to arrive each day at 8:00am for first period—only two-hours each way—for the pleasure of working with you. Skoal!

And of course, finally, to you, my students: in this difficult time for you, your body’s crazy new chemistry filling you with an aggression that, though you worked your hardest to suppress it, often found its outlet in threats to my person: without your hard work, this book, culled as it is from your occasional scribbles would not exist.

So, before the sugar kicks in and you, as every class before you has, destroy the gorgeous anthologies to which I devoted countless weeknight and weekend hours that I could have been enriching friendships, catching up on my own writing, or drowning my sorrows at the local tavern: to you and what you…accomplished…here today!

Cheers!

-David Andrew Stoler is a screenwriter, fiction, and nonfiction writer.  You can read more about David here.