Growing Up: Tale of a Wallflower by Mackenzie

Growing Up: Tale of a Wallflower by Mackenzie - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

I remember entering the high school campus for my last first day. I was more excited than ever before. I was determined to make my senior year the highlight of my life; but more importantly, I was going to be myself.
The three previous years flashed through my mind. All of my efforts had been spent working hard, making good grades, and staying out of trouble. I suppose I was considered by my classmates as the “good girl.” And though it’s not necessarily the worst stereotype, the condescension the phrase was spoken with time and time again ultimately wounded me the same as any other ridiculous high school label. The irony was that I did care about what they thought; and so, I truly began to see myself as unworthy and like an odd duckling.
My only defense (or what I thought was my only defense) was to dress like the other girls, and attempt to act like them. It was admittedly pathetic. I was purposely being artificial. And, I became a pretender just the same.
I did not feel like a desperate, brooding teenager. However, I most certainly was not the Cady Heron of my school either. I had no intentions of rising through the social class ranks. My dream for high school was to become “Queen of the Wallflowers”. The novelty and justification for wanting such a position was produced from my love of popular chick flicks and critically acclaimed books.
Speaking about it now seems silly.
Because the most important lesson I may have ever gleaned from high school was from a fellow good girl. It has served as my daily motivation ever since.
This wonderful, aspiring woman is one of two advanced science teachers, who also turned out to be a trusted friend and mentor. With her hair tucked loosely behind her ears and a modest, comfortable wardrobe, Mrs. Brock was seen by many as an easygoing mother. She made us think (and laugh). And she approached us not as students, but as equals with an interest in the realm of science.
It was the much anticipated (but dreaded) week of homecoming. As historian of the senior class, it was my duty, as well as all of the other class officers, to work on the banner which would be judged and displayed at the end of the week. "Piece of cake," I remember thinking to myself,"everyone would surely want to help." I believed all of our students had a pocket of school spirit inside. Of course with jobs and concurrent classes and personal lives, my classmates all managed to give me that “sorry, but you’ve got this” look which slowly turned into a personal pity party of painting the banner by myself. Regardless of the seemingly impossible task, I rolled up my sleeves with every intent to make my class proud of that banner.
Dressed in clothes that could never pass as hip or artistic, I dedicated entire afternoons to working on a banner instead of homework. I swear my body was visibly bearing all the effects of this daunting task. Wrinkles. Dark bags. And do not forget the pimples! My breaking point had been passed. Parts of me wanted to quit -- to be angry. Why, after all of their neglect, was I still torturing myself to be the good one? When a soothing, familiar voice of encouragement came from around the corner, and simply said, “Keep your chin up.” Mrs. Brock, my sponsor and favorite teacher, entered wearing navy blue sweat pants and a knowing smile. My former demeanor melted away; and, like the corners of my mouth, my perspective changed. I understood why I had stayed when nobody else would. I understood that I was different from everyone else, because being good wasn’t bad. Of course we spent the entire afternoon working hard to finish the banner, but during that time we swapped embarrassing stories about school and friends. We talked about life beyond high school. We sang along to old show tunes (something even my closest friends would not do) and danced. I became the person I had always wanted to be. Or rather, I had finally allowed myself to be who I was all along.
I have never had so much fun at school before, and I had never been able to be so open. With a grand total of sixteen hours, our two-person team was able to accomplish the impossible. It was like Mrs. Brock had shown me how to take a breath, to exhale all of the stress away, and to reignite a spark of hope. She taught me that things might not always go as planned, and many times in life we fall down or find ourselves struggling to stay afloat. But she showed me how being good, and perhaps different, is a worthy and noble title. And that by just being myself, I am capable of great things.
So maybe it began as a journey of (not so) blissful banner making. However, what I learned along the way was more meaningful and impactful than any lecture.
One should never count on others for success in life. Simply believe in yourself and trust that things will work out as long as you are true to yourself.