Alison hat in den 80ern einen Brieffreund namens John Hughes. Gestern abend hat sie die Geschichte dazu aufgeschrieben und damn, ich musste mir grade tatsächlich ’ne Träne wegdrücken. RIP, John.
For two years (1985-1987), John Hughes and I wrote letters back and forth. He told me – in long hand black felt tip pen on yellow legal paper – about life on a film set and about his family. I told him about boys, my relationship with my parents and things that happened to me in school. He laughed at my teenage slang and shared the 129 question Breakfast Club trivia test I wrote (with the help of my sister) with the cast, Ned Tanen (the film’s producer) and DeDe Allen (the editor). He cheered me on when I found a way around the school administration’s refusal to publish a „controversial“ article I wrote for the school paper. And he consoled me when I complained that Mrs. Garstka didn’t appreciate my writing.
„As for your English teacher…Do you like the way you write? Please yourself. I’m rather fond of writing. I actually regard it as fun. Do it frequently and see if you can’t find the fun in it that I do.“
He made me feel like what I said mattered. […]
„You’ve already received more letters from me than any living relative of mine has received to date. Truly, hope all is well with you and high school isn’t as painful as I portray it. Believe in yourself. Think about the future once a day and keep doing what you’re doing. Because I’m impressed. My regards to the family. Don’t let a day pass without a kind thought about them.“ […]
1997. I was working in North Carolina on a diversity education project that partnered with colleges and universities around the country to implement a curriculum that used video production as an experiential education tool. On a whim, I sent John a video about the work we were doing. I was proud of it and, all these years later, I wanted him to be proud too.
Late one night I was in the office, scheduled to do an interview with a job candidate. Ten minutes or so into the call it was clear that he wasn’t the right guy, but I planned to suffer through.
Then the phone rang.
1…2…3…4…a scream came from the other room and 1…2…3…my boss Tony was standing in my doorway yelling, „John Hughes is on the phone!!“ […]
Tonight, when I heard the news that John had died, I cried. I cried hard. (And I’m crying again.) I cried for a man who loved his friends, who loved his family, who loved to write and for a man who took the time to make a little girl believe that, if she had something to say, someone would listen.