Freshman Comp or F= happiness

The assignment from my first day of Freshman Composition was so easy I couldn’t believe it. Ha! This was college? I thought college was supposed to be difficult. The teacher had said to write a paragraph. Paragraphs were my strength. Just write five or six sentences, throw in some big words, and maybe even get fancy with some poetic devices, instant B+. And even more unbelievable she had said we could write about any topic. In high school I had to fight tooth and nail with my teacher for her to allow me to write my research paper on American poets about Jim Morrison. 

I was so excited. College was way better than high school. I went back to my room and quickly dispatched with scrawling out several sentences comparing eighties heavy metal to protest songs from the sixties. I was writing about Rock and Roll and the professor was going to be blown away. Hell, since I would turn it in on time, it would be an easy A! I eagerly delivered it to her mailbox. Everyone had always said I was a good writer. All I had to do now was sit back and wait for the A to be written at the top of my college ruled paper.

As Ms. White handed the papers back to my classmates I smugly sat in my seat as student after student slackened in their seats, bowed their heads, or let out audible groans. And then there she was, towering over me with a surprisingly big frown on her face. She dropped the paper on my desk with an air of disgust. And there at the top of my brilliant, analytical paragraph which clearly demonstrated the powerful messages in the music of Iron Maiden and Ozzy Ozborne was a big, fat F! And it had a circle around it, like she took glee in presenting me with the honor of being flunked on my first college assignment! This woman was wicked. I waited after class to protest as she busily gathered her things. She flatly said, “If you have questions about your grade you will need to make an appointment to see me in my office. There is a sign-up sheet on the door.” 

Then she was gone in a puff of smoke. 

I found the sign-up sheet on her office door and scheduled a conference for the next day. I planned to argue my way up at least to a C. When I arrived for the conference, her office door was open. Ms. White greeted me with a welcoming smile. “Come in”, she said warmly. This caught me off guard. The wicked witch was gone and I had prepared for an all-out war of words. But she was saying nice things to me as I sat down at her desk. She said that she liked my idea of trying to show that deeper meaning could still be found in popular music. However, my paragraph lacked cohesion and did not provide support for my position. She asked me if I really believed what I had written. I gave a weak yes as a reply. Then she said, “Let’s see how we can make this paragraph better.” She spent an entire hour with me gently explaining how I could have structured my thoughts more clearly. She talked to me about appropriate use of descriptive language. She asked me for more examples that supported my thesis. Then she told me to re-write it and she would take another look at it.

Not only did she give me a second chance, she gave me specifics on how to improve. I used her input to re-write the paragraph. The new grade was a B. I was happy with that. Ms. White told the class that when she gives us an assignment that she would always have the schedule on her door and we could sign up for extra help so that we could turn in our best work. She expected us to give our best effort. When she said these things to the class, it came out sounding mean. She was stern in her delivery. But after my experience in her office, I understood that she was sincere in her desire for us to be the best writers we could be. She saw the promise in us, but also that we needed to be pushed. I returned to her office before starting the next assignment. She gave advice and I made my first college A. In fact, it may have been the first time that I had ever made an A. I repeated this pattern for the remainder of the semester. By the time winter break arrived, I was an improved writer. I still had a long way to go, but I at least I had an idea of what I was doing when I sat down to write.

I learned not to judge people too quickly, as I had done with her when she barked at the class and gave me an F. Ms. White taught me how to be a better writer. But she also showed me why it was important to give my best effort. Earning a top grade was hard work. But more importantly I discovered that working hard and asking for help made me happy with the finished product. 

Happiness 

with a big circle around it.