Dear Class of 2020,

When we heard Mr. Sarosy announce our grade as the winner, we erupted. It was almost deafening how loudly we cheered. We felt bodies, not knowing or caring who they belonged to, leap into ours in excitement as the trophy that we had yearned for since our freshmen year rose above our heads. To get to that moment, we spent tireless hours rehearsing in the gym, despite our already jammed-packed schedules. We created art beyond our known capabilities. We learned to dance our hearts out. We laughed. We cried. And at the end of it all, we grew closer. After growing up together for 13 years, that moment of celebration was the closest we had ever been as a class. Looking back, it was nothing short of magic. But little did we know how bitter-sweet that moment would grow two months later.

While Class Night started as a grade-bonding tradition, it morphed into our last day of high school. With coronavirus marking its territory on the world, our high school experience ended with empty pages in our epilogue. Senior year milestones were compromised. We hung up our jerseys for the final time before getting the chance to even put them on. Some lost the opportunity to play their final season before their collegiate career begins, and for others, well, they had to cope with knowing that last year was their final time taking the field. In person classes were cancelled without face-to-face goodbyes to teachers we had grown to know during our four years. Our yearbook pages will be empty instead of decorated with messages from classmates. The prom dresses we spent hundreds of dollars on will catch dust in our closets. We will not see our fifteen seconds of fame on the Atlantic Avenue runway, despite watching it from the sidelines for years. We will not get to hug our friends on graduation day as we throw our caps into the air. In fact, Class Night may have been the last time we would hug all of our classmates that we grew up with since kindergarten.

Perhaps worse of all is the opportunity we are missing to say goodbye to our friends. As we began to enter adulthood, we have been flying further and further away from the nest, but suddenly, a storm hit and here we are, nestled beneath our parents’ wings once again. Going out with our best friends on Saturday nights morphed into playing board games with our parents, and an occasional Zoom call with friends who live just blocks away. While our closest friends will remain in touch, what about the relationships that did not go beyond the classroom, but still had an impact on our lives? Will we ever talk to those people again? This is normally the last opportunity we have to spend time with the people we grew up with before we head our separate ways in the fall. But, instead, we have been separated without so much as a wave goodbye.

But we certainly are not the only who feel that their world has turned upside down: the entire American society has been upended in two months. A birthday party is now called a “drive-by.” Face masks, pajamas, and split ends are the latest fashion trends. Superheroes no longer wear colorful capes, but scrubs and gloves. And villains are not dressed in evil grins but are instead pointy microscopic balls. Even worse, these villains are targeting the sick and elderly. People are dying without funerals to honor their lives. Our smiles and frowns have all become masked. It is like there’s this collective sense of nothingness and we’re all sitting in this waiting room wondering when we can reopen the door to reality.

So here we sit. Waiting. Learning behind a screen. Taking AP exams from our living room. Reading Hamlet as if it were a one-person play. Doing our part to help the world heal. None of us could have envisioned commencing our senior year this way. Coping with the loss of tradition amid a pandemic is difficult. There is no history for our grade to draw upon for guidance, so embrace how you feel as your own. These emotions are raw and should not be ignored.

And, honestly, I do not know what the future holds. I cannot imagine that taking our first steps away from childhood and into a recovering world will be easy. But after growing up with the Class of 2020 my whole life, I know our compassion and resiliency. I know that we would rather miss out on these experiences than jeopardize the health of our community. I know that we will overcome this. We will go on to college—whether it starts online or by wearing masks in lecture halls—and we will move on from high school. We are the next heroes, caregivers, and innovators that the world desperately needs. And we will make our mark on the world whether we had a senior prom or not. So, to Lynbrook’s Class of 2020, to my peers, to my friends, I’m sorry we were robbed. But let’s do what we do best: bounce back from setbacks. We will come out of quarantine with an untamable strength, and I cannot wait to witness the greatness we will leave behind with it. And, more than anything, I hope we can see each other soon.

Love, your friend,

Andie