A Lasting Lesson by Johanna

A Lasting Lesson by Johanna - January 2025 Scholarship Essay

A Lasting Lesson

Throughout my life, I have been fortunate to encounter teachers who saw potential in me even when I struggled to see it in myself. One of these teachers was Mrs. Pameticky, my English teacher during Junior year. Though I only had her for one year, the lessons she imparted have stayed with me in ways that go beyond literature. She wasn’t just a teacher; she became a mentor who fundamentally changed how I approached my education—and my life.

When I first stepped into Mrs. Pameticky’s classroom, I wasn’t particularly optimistic about the year ahead. English had always been a subject that I did well in but never truly loved. I approached essays as chores and books as assignments to get through. Mrs. Pameticky had a reputation for being strict but fair, and I wasn’t sure what to expect from her. She was tall and wiry, with sharp eyes that seemed to see through every excuse, every lie, and every shortcut. But there was something kind in her demeanor too, something that hinted she cared deeply about her students, even if she didn’t show it in obvious ways.

What I didn’t know then was that this year would be one of the hardest of my life. It was the year my grandmother, who had lived with my family since I was a child, passed away. Losing her felt like losing a piece of myself. I began to withdraw, not just from my friends but from school too. My grades, which had always been strong, began to slip. I was turning in half-done assignments or skipping them altogether. For weeks, I managed to blend into the background, but Mrs. Pameticky didn’t let it go unnoticed.

One day after class, she asked me to stay behind. Her voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that made me sit up straighter. “You’re not yourself,” she said simply. “What’s going on?”

At first, I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain the knot in my chest that seemed to grow tighter every day? How could I describe the nights I spent staring at my ceiling, too exhausted to cry but too restless to sleep? But Mrs. Pameticky waited, her sharp eyes softened by patience. Slowly, I told her about my grandmother, about how much she had meant to me, and how her absence had left me adrift.

She listened without interrupting, nodding every so often. When I finished, she didn’t offer hollow reassurances or clichéd advice. Instead, she said something I’ll never forget: “Grief doesn’t have a timeline, but it needs a space. Let your writing be that space.”

Over the next few months, Mrs. Pameticky gave me room to express myself in ways I hadn’t considered before. She encouraged me to write beyond the assignments, to use words as a way of processing my emotions. In one essay, I wrote about my grandmother’s hands—how they were always in motion, sewing, cooking, or smoothing back my hair. When I handed it in, I worried it was too personal, too raw. But when she returned it, there was a note scrawled in the margins: This is the kind of writing that matters.

Mrs. Pameticky didn’t just push me academically; she taught me how to channel my pain into something meaningful. She showed me that writing wasn’t just a skill to master but a tool to understand myself and the world around me. Slowly, I began to reconnect—with my classmates, my family, and my own ambitions.

By the end of the year, my grades were back on track, but more importantly, I felt like I had regained a sense of purpose. On the last day of class, I thanked Mrs. Pameticky for everything she had done. She waved it off, saying, “You did the hard part. I just gave you a nudge.”

Looking back, I realize how much that year shaped me. Mrs. Pameticky didn’t just help me through a difficult time; she taught me resilience. She taught me that pain, while inevitable, could be transformed into something beautiful. Now, as a senior reflecting on my high school journey, I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today without her guidance.

Whenever I sit down to write—whether it’s an essay, a journal entry, or even a college application—I think of her words. I think of how she believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Teachers like Mrs. Pameticky are rare, but their impact lasts a lifetime. For that, I will always be grateful.