Who knew that this year, AISU 3.0, would be AISU’s last “good” year? The Daily Gravy will be the first to admit that the way we reacted to last year’s 3.0 ordeal was incredibly naïve. How could we know that 3.0, with all of its frustrating madness, would seem like a warm bubble bath compared to the prospect of next year at AISU without those who are graduating or leaving? Which brings us to the point of this article: to say goodbye to people who have seemed like a permanent part of AISU—including students as well as teachers, such as Erica Glenn, David Fawson, and Pippa Keene.
While the Gravy is not known for shying away from difficult topics, this one is incredibly hard. When we picture AISU, we picture you. We picture everything you’ve done for us and for the school, whether it’s something big, such as organizing (or participating in) a world-class performing arts program, or something small, such as being our friend though you knew you were going to have to leave. Come to think of it, that’s actually really rude of you. You’d all better do a really good job of keeping in touch.
We would not be who we are today without you. You have changed us individually and as a school. We are better because we knew you. Without you, there would be no performing arts at AISU. Without you, there would be no Daily Gravy. Without you, a lot of us would be in a very dark place, literally (like a public school) or figuratively (like a mental hospital—but I repeat myself). Without you, many of us would have no idea what we truly want to do with our lives. Without you, life would suck a lot.
We will forever be grateful that you were a part of our lives for even a small amount of time. That means more to us than the fact that AISU’s soccer team won the state championship. Or, to give a more familiar, relatable example, it means more to us than anything AISU’s performing arts program has ever accomplished. If we had the choice between keeping you around only a little bit longer or never having another fire drill at AISU, we would choose keeping you around, hands down. We want to keep in touch with you more than we want Mike Stumph to mind his own business. We would fill out an academic eligibility form every day if it meant we could have more time in your life, and we would make sure to stay on track in our classes and maybe even work ahead if it meant our teachers would sign us off as eligible.
You’re more important to us than academic eligibility forms are to Mike Stumph. You mean more to us than getting into the school play means to the drama kids. We love you more than our performing arts students hate Rockwell Charter High School and Shaun Barrowes combined. We care about you more than Sir Burton cares about his robot stuff. We’ll miss you more than we’d miss our freedom if we were at a public school. Much more, actually. You are the Christa to our Dean. You are the Kelly Casaday of our lives. We love you and if we don’t see you again—well, let’s not let our thought go there, OK? We hope to see you again as much as possible. The Gravy isn’t very good at goodbyes, but that’s OK, because this is not a goodbye; it’s just a “see you later, alligators.” Lots of love, the Daily Gravy.