My Road to a Red Nine by Josephine

My Road to a Red Nine by Josephine - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

It is reasonable to imagine that many students will apply to this scholarship with stories of admirable and kind teachers; ones who highlighted their talents and showed them how much they had to offer. Mine is a story of realizing that I am not special, nor a genius. Mine is the story of how I learned to write, years after I became a writer.
I grew up surrounded by literature. Taught to read and write at a very young age, I was often praised immensely for the smallest feat such as a poem that rhymed or a page of writing that was, looking back, not very good. Because I had no friends who wrote daily, my ego soared, and stayed flying high until my junior year of high school. This is when I met my AP Literature and Composition teacher Ms. Baran. Prior to walking into her classroom, I had heard many horror stories about Ms. Baran, aka Ms. “barren,” in reference to her supposed lack of a soul. But I wasn’t scared. My many years as an esteemed and praised writer had my back, and I was ready to impress.
Ms. Baran assigned essays often, and graded them on a zero to nine scale. A nine was a score of ninety-seven, being the highest a student could score on an essay. This scale made it physically impossible to score a one hundred on an assignment, a fact that suited her harsh personality and even stricter guidelines. If an essay went even one line onto an extra page, the page was ripped off and thrown in the trash. We were warned that papers would be handed back dripping with red ink. And yet, I remained unphased. I walked into her classroom, proud and ready to battle the rumoured red ink with intelligence and grace. That grace would soon fall fast and hard.
Following the first written assignment of the year, one given within the first few days of school, I patiently waited for my grade back, ready to be to be showered with compliments and praise. Instead, I was greeted by a big red 5, otherwise known as a big fat F. “This must be a mistake” was the first thought that popped into my head. I thought that she may have misread a paragraph or missed a page. But as I flipped through my paper and scanned the red marks, I grew solemn. I realized my mistakes and, for the first time in my life, I had done badly on a writing assignment. I went home that night and cried to my parents about unfairness and miscommunication. It only took three or four more essays and three or four more good cries for me to realize that Ms. Baran was being constructive. I was used to being the best, and I certainly was not accustomed to criticism. But if anything, those big red fives gave me the push that I needed. Soon the fives turned into sevens, and the sevens turned into eights. On one of my last essays in the class, I received a shining red nine. I was over the moon.
I was a good writer before Ms. Baran’s class. I had the creative mindset to capture a reader. However, I lacked the technical skill to create a universally effective piece of writing. Ms. Baran took my egotistical “talent” and turned me into a great writer, one who could effectively portray an idea while still remaining organized. My year with her was humbling and rewarding. I’ve gone on to become what many would call a great writer. For some, it takes someone to believe in them to become great. I have always believed in myself. To become great, all I needed was to be brought back down to earth. M
s. Baran taught me that I am not the only great writer in a room. And even more importantly, she taught me that even the best writers always have room to improve. I am bound to receive more big red fives in the future, but thanks to Ms. Baran I will confront them with a brave face knowing that they hold the potential to be the start of my road to the big red eights and nines of the world.