My twin brother was the baseball player in the family, but I played Legion ball long enough to know the three-strike rule. Three strikes and you’re out.
First strike: Professor Nigel caught me with the midterm exam. Strike two: missed the deadline for the scholarship essay he requested.
But seriously, what the hell?
Still, I was afraid of what strike three might look like. Lately my choices weren’t hitting home runs. I was zero for two at bat.
When Nigel emailed that the window to send him the essay wasn’t completely closed, I took the soft lob he threw. Writing an essay during midterm week—or anytime—wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I wanted this monkey off my back more. I hated the feeling that I owed someone something.
I exhaled and set my cold IPA on the milk crate beside the couch. My laptop was ready for something inspiring, but I had nothing. The only thing that inspired me was Hope. I wanted to drive back to Cheyenne and stare into her blue eyes. Instead, I stared at a black screen.
Describe a unique challenge you’ve undergone to pursue your education.
The essay’s topic was as Hallmark as it got.
Fuck me.
I took a sip of the Harvest ale and texted Hope. What’s up?
Rnt u supposed 2b wrtg an essay?
I laughed. m/b
M/b my ass. Listen, write da essay so we cn hang out nxt w/end n I cn beat u @ mario kart.
Ever since Hope checked out my Tinder profile, she’d been giving me shit. My pros and cons were legit. I knew how to start a fire with two sticks, I was a presentable plus one, and I did love camping and would take her with me. My cons were equally as real: I was not Ryan Reynolds, my baking skills would ruin anyone’s diet, and I wouldn’t let a girl beat me at Mario Kart. The last con got all the swipes—including Hope’s. Now her whole mission was to kick my ass at the video game.
Nvr gonna happen, but cute idea, I replied.
We'll c. Get back2work talk 2night
I leaned against the couch. I didn’t want to wait and talk to her later tonight; I wanted to talk to her now. But I also knew she was spending time with a family friend and couldn’t talk. This family friend had already cut our weekend short, which sucked. I was back in Casper when I’d rather be in Cheyenne.
I sighed. The sooner I finished this bullshit, the closer I’d be to freedom from Nigel. I cracked my neck and started typing.
Branson Kovak
Scholarship Essay
Professor Nigel
Unique Challenge
During senior seminar this week, the topic of how we could better relate, understand, and support our community was discussed. The issue of schools and education was presented. We talked about the concerns and fears parents may have when first introducing their children into the classroom. Regardless of the community, the feelings that parents experience are similar.
A parent’s job up until the first day of school is to be the sole protector of their child, but when they’re introduced to their teacher, that changes. Now the teacher is the protector of this child. Parents have the right to be concerned. Growing up, I had many teachers, but none of them truly made me feel safe until fifth grade.
Throughout my childhood, I was faced with challenges that I would never wish on any kid my age. I was in constant fear in and outside of school from many different people in my young life.
There was a man in my life at home who constantly ruled the household with fear and paranoia that I had to witness along with the rest of my family. Then at school, I was clearly affected from the trauma. I stuttered and had a lisp. Even if I didn’t speak, kids seemed to sense something was wrong, because I was constantly bullied and called a freak, or they wouldn’t hang out with me at all.
I suffered this fate for many years until I was put in a testing situation with my fifth grade teacher, Mr. Brown. At this point in my life, whenever I was placed under tremendous stress, I would develop nervous ticks and my stuttering got worse. One day we were taking a standard quiz, which was nothing to be stressed about, but I began to do little coughs every couple of seconds. It was a sign of my tick. This occurred for several minutes until the teacher came over and put his hand on my shoulder.
He knelt next to me and whispered in my ear, “There is nothing to fear here. You are safe.”
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I was cared for by someone outside of the terror I had been living with in my home. For the first time in my life, I felt completely and utterly safe somewhere.
I swallowed the emotions at the base of my throat and took a long drink. If my dad ever read this, he’d never speak to me again.
Don’t quit now.
It wasn’t Trevor or some command hallucination in my head, it was my own voice reminding me that I was more than my past. And at a base level, that internal voice reminded me that while my apartment might not be much, it was mine, and it was safe.
I’ve got this.
This time when my fingers touched the keys, they had purpose.
After that, I never had an issue while I was in class. I may not go on the path to become a teacher, but whatever path I do take, I want any child in my care to realize they’re safe and that nothing bad will happen to them while they’re with me.
If I were to be a teacher, I would utilize the same method and reassure all my students of their safety. There is nothing I won’t do for someone who’s hurting, because I understand what they’ve been through and have shed just as many tears as them.
Above anything else, a teacher should be a protector to students who can’t protect themselves. We need more teachers like Mr. Brown. I believe there are some out there but not nearly enough.
I think as a working class, certain teachers become too focused on the end result of their job in regards to their own benefits rather than their students. Teachers are quite literally raising the next generation of adults, and this is a job that should never be taken lightly. I believe teachers should receive twice as many benefits and pay, because their job is the foundation for America and these children. If we underpay and underappreciate teachers, then they in return will underappreciate their students and jobs.
If we want to have any hope for a future, we need to take better care of the individuals living in that future. Teachers like Mr. Brown are so important to me because that one interaction changed my whole perspective on life and how I was living it. A life of constant fear and anxiety leads to very bad habits and traits. I am thankful that I never fully allowed those habits to take hold.
The unique challenges I had to pursue for my education began in my home and extended into the classroom until one teacher made me feel safe.
“Hell yes.” I ran a spell check, attached it to an email to Professor Nigel, and hit Send. Next stop, Cheyenne. I knew Hope wasn’t expecting me, but it wasn’t like she’d get mad—especially since I planned on letting her win at Mario Kart.