The Art of Failure by Priscilla

The Art of Failure by Priscilla - June 2019 Scholarship Essay

At the start of my sophomore year, my English teacher had given us an assignment to create a visual representation of our culture. Since it was a new year, I wanted to start it off right with a 100 in the grade book. I put all my effort into painting a colorful and vibrant Calavera, or Sugar Skull, since it is used in the Mexican holiday Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead). I’m no Frida Kahlo, but I was proud of my painting and was sure I would receive a good grade. However, when my English teacher was passing back the assignments, rather than a 100, I was met with a big, red 50 at the top of my painting. I was immediately discouraged. I fervently believed that this 50 would set the theme for the rest of my sophomore year.

Since it was the last class of the day, I went home with this disappointment and carried it with me into the next day. By the time I reached my 6th period, which was the class of my favorite teacher, Ms. A, I was still feeling the discouragement and disappointment from failing an assignment that I had put so much effort in. Since I’ve had Ms. A since my freshman year, I’ve developed a positive, trusting relationship with her and I felt comfortable telling her about the bad grade I received and the toll it was taking on me. I showed her the painting that I was once so proud of, but now, tainted with the shining 50, I had become ashamed of.

I had made up my mind to hate the painting. I agreed with my English teacher that I deserved the 50. My disappointment in myself was unwavering. None of the comforting or reassuring words that Ms. A was offering me was enough to break through my wall of shame. As a result, at the end of our conversation, when it was clear that my mind wasn’t changing, I receded from her desk, but not before folding up and throwing away my painting in the trash can by her desk.

In the following moments, the lesson that she taught me was not conveyed through her words, but through her actions. She retrieved the painting from her trash, smoothed out the wrinkles, and proceeded to hang it on her wall. It was a small gesture that had an unintentional, major impact on me and my academic journey. I realized that even if I followed the misconstrued value that others placed on my work and allow that to determine my self-worth, that there were still people that saw the true value in myself and what I create even when I can’t see it myself.

Every day I saw my painting on her wall. Every day I was reminded that what was unsatisfactory for some was outstanding to others. It gave me the boost I needed to revive my optimism and excitement for my sophomore year. Even now as a senior, when I’ve failed a test or just don’t believe in my abilities, I remember my painting on her wall and remind myself that failing in school every once in a while is okay, that if I did my best and was proud of the outcome then it’s not really a failure, and above all, that Ms. A was still proud of me.

The lesson that I learned from my favorite teacher wasn’t a traditional classroom lesson. In fact, the lesson that she taught me was so special it couldn’t be planned nor taught with a simple worksheet or powerpoint. Ms. A taught me a timeless lesson of standing by my work. A radical notion that nobody in my life had bothered to teach me, but now that Ms. A had, I am grateful. I am unsure if she knew how impactful her actions that day were going to be to me. I’m not even sure if she remembers it two years later, but I, for one, will never forget. Her lesson transformed my mentality towards my work and education. It also made me revisit an old lesson that my parents have been teaching me since I was learning to walk: that a simple gesture of genuine kindness can greatly impact a person's day, and in my case, a person's life.