These are the letters from the ninth (and final) day of the Grading
War. If you landed here by accident and don’t know what you’re reading,
click here for the backstory.
One last note: this whole #GradingLetterstoHome adventure was great fun, and a very welcome relief from the drudgery of grading. Thanks to Marcus Battle for coming up with the idea in the first place, and special thanks to my fellow letter-writers over the last week or so: Charles McKinney (Rhodes College), Susan Satterfield (Rhodes College), Art Carden (Samford University), Zeke Leonard (Syracuse Univeristy) and Marcus Langford (University of Cincinnati-Blue Ash). To of all my Civil War-enthusiast friends, I want to say for the record that I am aware that real wars are brutal and cruel, and that grading is a misfortune of an entirely different ilk. To my students, I want to say for the record that I do not think that you are the Opposition. To everyone unable to understand an extended metaphor, I got nothing for you.
13 December 2013, 1:38pm
Dearest Charles,
Dare I write it? Dare I say it aloud? Dare I even think it? Just
this morning, our regiment laid down arms and watched as the truce
between ourselves and the Political Philosophy Company was signed,
certified and dispatched in the saddlebags of our respective couriers,
to be carried on swift and noble steeds back to the Command Posts. I
report to you now, dear Charles, that I am given reason to believe that the end to this protracted struggle is blessedly nigh.
We have but one more battle to fight here, and we will endeavor with
all our courage and might to bring that dread encounter with the
Existentialism Company to a speedy resolution. Our side has, I admit
with some embarrassment, avoided them thus far, constantly revising our
strategies and re-routing our efforts each time we heard the muffled
thud of the E.C.’s boots close-by. But no more! We chomp down now on
the steely bit of our Fate, hard and determined like beasts of burden in
the field.. By hook or by crook, we shall not sleep another night at
War.
So confident are we that the finale is within reach,
several of the men and I have already begun making plans for our
celebration of its much-anticipated end. Mark my words, dear Charles,
that together our Company will travel homeward tonight on wings like
eagles’, and we will rest ourselves, at long last, in our familiar seats
of our familiar watering-hole back home, in the company of friends for
whom our hearts have desperately longed. Full of joy and full of love
for one another, we will fill ourselves with spirits and all the fried
chicken wings that we have been so long denied. We will revel in the
music of home, in laughter and in dancing til the wee hours, and we will
know that it is good.
I pray you and yours see a similar
Vision of Home, close enough to believe in, to encourage your hearts
and, above all, to realize. I remain, even in these last hours, as
ever,
Your friend,
Leigh M. Johnson
7:04pm
Dearest Charles,
It is with my most full and gladdest heart that I draw myself away from
the celebrations, only for a moment, to relay the happy news of our
Company’s long-awaited VICTORY in the Grading War! Hallelujah,
hallelujah and a thousand more hallelujahs! Already we’ve begun feasting
like Kings here. We’ve uncorked the first of what is sure to be many
bottles of spirits, we’ve joined up with
the men in neighbouring Companies to trade stories over the fire and,
to be sure, we’ve unleashed a manner of Revelry that resounds with no
less thundering reverberation than the most glorious chorus of Angels!
This will be my last dispatch to you, my exultant peroration to our
lengthy and heart-wrenching correspondence over the last several days.
I entrust this missive to our courier, and bid him a fond farewell,
with every hope that my letter finds your Company immersed in the same
saturnalia as ours, clinking your glasses and packing your bags to Home
as we do now.
This Grading War has both tested and refined
all of our moral backbones, my friend. I, for one, have come to see the
Opposition as not only deserving, but also worthy, of my respect. God
forbid I ever enter into such a battle again but, should that
inevitability come to pass, know that you hold within your hands now
evidence of my pledge to not feign ignorance of memory of these last
nine days. Let it be the case that those memories will, God permitting,
both direct and correct my path next time.
As the prophet
Isaiah foretold, we shall henceforth run and not grow weary, we shall
walk and not be faint. But not tonight, dear Charles, not until we
drink ourselves, tonight at least, into oblivion.
Whatever
state you find yourself in whilst you read these words, I pray you take
comfort that your friend’s is a triumphant state. I remain gleefully
(and unapologetic in my bliss), as I have been devotedly throughout
these days and as I remain, as ever,
Your friend,
Leigh M. Johnson