Acceptance of Change
My sophomore year of high school was a big change for me. I was moving all the way from Idaho to Maine. I have always known since I was a small child living in Florida that as soon as my parents served their twenty years in the Air Force I would move to Maine and attend Fryeburg Academy. The suspense of moving to a new school was intimidating because my grandparents attended school at the Academy and told me “it’s a really tough school.” Not only that but I toured the school before I moved to Maine one spring, and the people I met said that Fryeburg Academy has high expectations for its students, nevermind that it is basically a college campus with dorms and seven different facilities. When I finally moved to Maine, I was registering for classes with Mr. Manning, the academic advisor, and we discussed my transcript from Mountain Home, and he suggested I take Honors English. I said Yes, but I was nervous because I had heard that the sophomore Honors English teacher was tough.
I discovered that this was true the first week of classes with Mr. St. Pierre. My first paper I wrote I ended up receiving a C-, and it was not just me. A lot of my classmates also received C’s and even D’s on their essays. So all of us set up meeting times to talk to our instructor to see what we did wrong and how we could improve our writing to achieve a better grade. Now Mr. St. Pierre was an arrogant guy, whose demeanor was he thought he was better than everybody and he made you feel as if you should be privileged to be talking with him. So he in general intimidated me, but I was also nervous because of all the rumors I had heard about him failing everyone, and the rumor that not a single person in any of his classes had ever received an A. In my household if I did not receive an A in all of my classes, there would be consequences, so I was terrified. In spite of my fear I had to meet with Mr. St. Pierre for my grade’s sake. I wish I could say the meeting went well but unfortunately it did not. He sat down and asked me where I went to school before transferring to the Academy, and I told him Mountain Home, Idaho. Then he told me that I had been taught the wrong way, and I needed to fix my essay. Of course I asked “How can I fix my essay?” he replied,“Try a couple different things and you’ll be fine.” That’s all he said the whole meeting. Naturally I was frustrated because I had never received a C in my entire life, and Mr. St. Pierre was not much help. Needless to say I was devastated.
A few days later in study hall, Mr. Cobb, my instructor for American History 101 and 102 through Syracuse University, noticed that I was stressed. It was written all over my face, as if I was mentally drained. He asked what was wrong, and I told him that I was stressed about English. I said I was afraid to get another bad grade, but I told him I did not know how to fix my errors on my previous essay to apply to my new essay. I did not know what to do. I vented to him about the whole situation, how I had a meeting with Mr. St. Pierre and how he was not any help. Then Mr. Cobb offered some advice. I was not sure how he would help me or even help me out at all because, Mr. Cobb was an old man with a long white ponytail who always was referred to as “off his rocker” due to his dry humor. So I was a little concerned when he decided to give me a few “old English” books such as The World of Short Fiction by Robert C. Albrecht; he told me to read them, make notes, and come see him once I did so.
I did as he asked; however, I was still skeptical, until we started conferencing about the books. We discussed how each author had different styles, key points of discussion and details. For example, we talked about Edgar Allen Poe’s raw descriptive nature, and how Ernest Hemingway’s generalizations leave the writing open for interpretation from the reader. Soon after I began reading the books Mr. Cobb gave me and discussing different styles and diction in the book with him, I began to receive better grades in English. I kept trying new techniques in my writing, and it allowed me to get better in my writing. Later that year Mr. Cobb retired, and I was sad but yet so grateful that I had been able to have him as a teacher and allow myself to let him help me in English. Now that I think about it, Mr. Cobb helped me in allowing me to accept change. Yes, in my writing; but in life too. From this experience, I learned that allowing oneself to accept help or guidance may lead to great results.
