An Open Letter to Posterity, or, Why I Shouldn’t Be Allowed Near Minors

Dear high school kids I met in the Georgetown Summer Medicine Institute,

You scare the crap out of me.

Really. I’m not being facetious. Everything I did in the private setting of our small group meetings screamed “unprofessional 12-year-old.” I’ve never cursed at minors (jokingly, of course) so frequently in my life. And thank you for the opportunity to throw an apple at a kid’s junk – and make the bulls-eye, mind you – without reporting me to the authorities. Had your parents been in the room with us, I certainly would have maintained my professionalism with you for longer than a grand total of five minutes.

Yet through all my childish behavior, I somehow gained your respect. I love that we laughed and bonded over how boring that one lecture was or how the field trip was a total failure. Hell, most of you guys actually listened to me when I asked you to do stuff. I’m still scratching my head about that one.

Yes, the responsibilities were stressful. I spent the entire week chasing you around, answering your idiotic “HURRR WHERE DO WE GO” texts because you refused to listen when I already told you that information, taking attendance to make sure none of the 23 of you were dead in a ditch in Southeast D.C., and occasionally teaching you some of my own half-baked ideas about what it means to be a health care professional. (Thanks for listening to my impromptu lectures, by the way. Nice to know that my opinion matters to some people, AHEM MOTHER.)

I had an absolute blast hanging out and talking trash with you kids, but the inherent fear never went away. Parents are so jumpy these days that I was afraid every wrong, unprofessional move I made could get me kicked out, unpaid, with possible legal ramifications. And for what? A bunch of 17-year-olds I’ll never see again?

As people with degrees from fairly prestigious universities and on the road to ambitious medical professions, we like to think we’re pretty hot stuff. We’re all gunners. We’re all a little bit arrogant, whether we know it or not. And don’t even get me started on our God complexes. The bottom line is, we usually consider you high school kids as spoiled know-nothings who think you know everything when some of you have never even left your home state. I really didn’t know what to expect when I signed up for this gig. "We have to make a bunch of uninterested, snot-nosed brats sit in three hours of lecture a day? There’s no way this is going to work out well. Even we can’t pay attention for three hours of lecture a day.”

Which is why what scared me the most was discovering how incredibly brilliant and mature you all were.

The critics all say that America is falling, if not already, behind most other first-world countries in educating our kids in the sciences. No Child Left Behind, though well-intended, has done far more harm than good by restricting students to a certain arbitrary, inadequate standard. A couple of years ago, my faith in the future of America, this lovely country that has given me so many opportunities, started to wane. ‘MURRICA is no longer number one. (We would be wise to stop all all the unwarranted chest-thumping.)

You guys scared me because I woefully underestimated you all. You restored my faith in the American future. You came from different backgrounds, all with slightly different points of view, and openly engaged in discussion and thought deeply about the questions I raised during group discussions. Each of you brought something truly unique to the table. Though you occasionally disagreed, you were cordial to each other in open, constructive debate. Above all, you showed a true curiosity and passion for medical science. I didn’t want to say anything at the time, but it was really moving to see you guys get so excited about a topic that earned me wedgies when I was a kid. Most of all, you were all hilarious to hang out with, sometimes even more wildly inappropriate than I was willing to be.

In fact, my experience with my kids (you're all super racist for calling us "The Chins", by the way) was so positive that, if asked to return next year, I think I will decline. You guys are irreplaceable. Yes, I'm sure I'll meet another group of kids just as excitable and fun as you. But it really won't be quite the same. The first time is always special. [Insert virginity joke of your choice]

In the fitting words of Jack Black in School of Rock: “Your children have touched me. And I’m pretty sure I’ve touched them too.”

Love,
Gordo