I read that letter today, having forgotten what I wrote in it given that I was 14 at the time. The contents were as follows:

Who are you? I mean that figuratively of course, but still. As I’m writing this, we’re in a real rough patch. Constant arguing with Mom, that terrible freshman year looming over us, and a phone that is practically wire-tapped. I hope that things are better for you. I also hope that we were finally able yo figure out who we are. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Do we have a style in the future? I certainly hope so. The only thing that I hope is that the version of us who is reading this isn’t some awkward, gangly, acne-ridden, bad-grade-receiving, lazy, sad teenage guy. If you are, please take this as a wakeup call. And if you aren’t, thank you. I am so, so proud of you.

This made me cry. Both for how much worse things would get after I wrote this and how much better they are now. I like to think that the little girl who wrote this is still alive in me. I hope that I did enough to make her proud.