Learning Experience

“I’ve got a D on Mr. Patrick’s test, third time in a row,” Sim sighed,[1] “I must be really dumb.”

            “No, you’re not,” I frowned. Why was he so pessimistic? “You are a hard-worker. You study hard. What’s stupid about you?”

            “We studied together. You’ve gotten an A. See my point? It follows that, well, I’m not as smart. I can’t remember stuff. I can’t write in good grammar. I can’t…”

            I chuckled, “Hey, if you are going to cite what you can’t, it’s going to take all night.” I continued, “The point is, if you are going to say you can’t, you can’t.”

            “But I really can’t…” Sim blurted out angrily, blushing intensely.

            I interrupted, “There was a time when I thought I can’t. I was like you. I thought I was a complete loser. I was desperate. I thought I was stupid. I just couldn’t remember anything for a test. It was a long time ago, however, it was still, a very clear memory.” I smiled gently at Sim, who looked like the world had fallen down and crushed him deep down.

            Sim groaned gloomily, “Who would believe you? You just ace everything that you sit onto.[2]” We both walked down the hallway. It was quiet, yet suddenly, a “friend”, his face indistinct, barked sadistically, “Hey, loser, how’s everything going?”burst out laughing, and without a glance, slammed the doorshut. As athletic and strong as he was, Sim winced, like he had been punched in the face, without the chance of defending. His movement was lost in the crowded, blistering, and thunderous school yard. No chance of being seen. Or noticed.

            “I understand your unhappiness,” I began…I was cut in the middle by Sim, who furiously spoke in an end-of-discussion way, “Enough. Maybe I should just give up.”

            I smiled, “There was once a guy who wanted to give up…”

¯™–—¯™–—¯

I was a first grader. Someone who would go to school the next day should be excited. And I was.

Every kid in my class was previously tutored at home for about one year already. Their parents’ reasoning was that if they did not cram into their children’s head a ton of knowledge before they started school, it would be certain, 100%, that the poor child would not catch up. In fact, it had become such a trend that sometimes teachers (It aches to say this, but actually, only incompetent ones) expected that students must have had a basic knowledge of the learning materials. I guess that made my parents different, because they did not send me anywhere. I did not know anything about reading, or writing, or homework! Probably that’s why I was excited. I stayed excited for a week.

If I had written a journal, my first grade could have been like this:

“First day of school,

Fun, I met my teacher. She was nice. She gave me food. Good stuff. She introduced her name, (which had fallen into ruins in my memory), taught us how to do a simple dance. She rocked. I loved her! ”

“Second day of school,

Again, quite fun and also educative day. We started to introduce ourselves to each other. I learned that other people had different names from mine. Funny fact.”

“Fifth day of school,

We started to do some writing. Obviously the teacher expected us to be able to write these crazy, scribbly lines already. Or most of us. Because I couldn’t. She was puzzled.”

“First day of second week,

Things were getting worse. I was starting to hate school. She squigglef some ugly, crazy loops and an unintelligible mess on the board, and expected us to understand that it said, “I like to draw.” Why? I don’t get it. The teacher was annoyed.”

Third day of second week,

I went nuts. What the heck is 1 + 1 = 2? Why doesn’t  1 + 1 = 3? What are 2 or 3, are they just stuff humans invented to torture first graders? How am I supposed to know that? My teacher was exasperated.

Fifth day of second week,

Ms. shouted at me. It went somewhat like this, “Why are you so dumb? The class is moving on to multiplication. You don’t even know how to write your own name. You don’t know how to do 1 + 1. How ridiculous!” And guess what, I felt ashamed. Who wouldn’t? Would you like to be called stupid in fron of your classmates? I would wonder what was up with your health if you did not. J I burst into tears, literally. I exploded into a water fountain and no one was able to stop me. I felt humiliated. SCHOOL WAS A COMPLETE DISASTER. WHY DID I HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL?

Third week,

I could tell you. It was not fun, at all. I thought that I was hopeless, that it was impossible for me to understand multiplication. What did the teacher say? Ahh…She wrote a big 3 x 2 on the board. She said, “There are two pots. Each has 3 flowers. How many of them are altogether?” The whole class rang, “Six flowers, Ms.” I was at a loss. What? I was dumb, dumb, dumb, hopeless… I couldn’t do it…

I could not understand why my classmates could, and why I could not. I believed the reason WAS because I was slower than everyone. I was the worst student in class. I could not learn anything. And the results from the quizzes and tests in the next two weeks DID prove that I was a slow learner.

Fifth month,

Four months passed already, same thing happened again, and again, and again. Boy was my teacher fast. She was halfway through the books in the middle of second quarter. Probably because she felt that all of the children in my class learned so fast. Except me, always except Alex.

Guess where I was? I gave up on myself. I just could not bear the disgrace of having tests with Fs anymore, nor could I put up with my teacher’s killer gaze, nor could I stand the annoyed eyes of my classmate, “I haven’t someone like him my whole life.” I resigned to fate. I did not study anymore, with a mind frame, “Even if I study, what good will it do? I am already stupid. I can’t change my intelligence,” Easy enough, my grades generally stayed where they were. Tests or quizzes just became blurry before my eyes, and my brain basically shut down. I struggled to pass even the easiest tests, something I considered a phenomenon.

I told my parents, “I give up. I can’t understand. I can’t do math…I can’t multiply…I can’t read quickly enough…” The list went on and on. My parents snapped, “That’s not true, you and your friends have the same brain. Therefore, if they can, why can’t you?”

“But…” I argued.

“No buts,” my mom said, “Just go study. I don’t care what people say about you. You just do it.” I was annoyed. What did she mean? How could I have a same brain like my friends? Hadn’t I determined that I was the dumbest kid ever to be born?

A slight hope was lit in my mind. What if…What if I was not stupid? What if I was smart? My parents’ firm belief fueled me. A little bit. I tried again. The frail hope, this time, magically helped me to locate the letters on the paper. They did not jump, nor did they squirm, or squeeze their way out of my understanding anymore. This, to me, was one of the greatest moments of my life. Somehow the letters got into my brain, and they stayed there.

I became more confident. I read some more, this time thinking I could do it better, and in a way that I didn’t know, finished the four or five chapters on addition, subtraction, multiplication, division that night and caught up with my friends.

Next day, when the teacher announced a pop quiz, the whole class was shaking, including me. I frowned. Could my intelligence last for two days? Or would it wane and I would be like the normal labels: slow, unintelligent, can’t process information, the list of learning disabilities goes on and on? She handed the papers out. I began to shake vioently. It seemed like the whole school was in an earthquake hypocenter. “Oh my god,” I think. I could not do it! Last night, it was a dream! A bad dream!

However, another thought, warm and sunny, diligently battled its way in my brain. It ousted the dark, cold smoky figure that was muddling my brain. A slight voice coming somewhere. I listened, intently. The voice chided, first small, then louder. It became so near I jolted in shock, “You and your friends have the same brain. If they can, what can’t you?” Sense started to creep into my fingers. I could now see a blue rod that I thought was my pen. I took a deep breathe, grasped my pen, and grabbed the paper.

The cold, dark feeling suddenly wrenched my throat, messing with my vision, kicking, wriggling its last hopes. Faces, including my teachers, and my friends, flashed, “You are dumb! You are stupid!”  However, warmth, strong and firm, radiated around my body, as my parents’ faces smiled caringly, “The key is to BELIEVE!”, my face, screaming gloriously when I finished my material last night was so real I could have sworn it was painted on my eyelid. I tackled the paper.

Two days later, my teacher came in with a smug smile. She announced, “Alex has gotten the highest grade in class.” The whole class gaped in horror, and they blabbered, “Had you made a mistake, Ms.?” She spoke, her voice towering above all the whispers and gossips, “I know this is very peculiar. That’s precisely why I’m sure I had not made a mistake.” I felt so cool. The cold, dark faces of my teacher and my friends vanished in my body. Their dominance over me faltering, falling apart as the victorious feeling engulfed them completely, repaired the heavy marks that fear had crafted on me.

“Believe and act as if it were impossible to fail.”
                                                 ---Charles F. Kettering

I quickly caught up with my friends. They stopped calling me dumb. I felt even better. This hauled my confidence to a new level. I finished the books two months before the standard curriculum did. I was on top of the world. The feeling was incredible. No tests were ever able to scare me anymore. I just sat down, picked my pen up, and wrote, confident that I had studied everything, every fiber of muscle of me believing that I was going to be able to crack an A+. And I did. Virtually every time.

¯™–—¯™–—¯

Two months after I told Sim the story, guess what? He caught up with us extremely quickly. He realized that he had a brain similar to any of us, a brain that by research could hold more information that any computer or super library in the world. As we walked down the hallway, again, with triumphant grins up high on Sim’s face, no “friend” was able to shout, “Hey, loser!” again. Ever.

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[1] Fictional name

[2] Forgive my self-flattery. I am exaggerating to make this story look good.

P.S. Sim and him getting a D a third time in a row in Mr. Patrick's class is fictional. I hope that his tests won't make anyone have a D. :) I'm just making it to make this story look good. However, the middle part with me struggling is true, and how I overcame it is true. Just clarifying so that everyone won't think Mr. Patrick is evil. :) Just kidding...