Myself as a Reader
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The Yiddish proverb “You cant control the wind, but you can adjust your sails” is a quote that I firmly believe in. Ever since I was little, people would ask me “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and Ive always answered back “Dental hygienist, like my mommy!!” So once I got to high school I knew I had to work my butt off, and would do anything within my power to make it into college. Different classes and different teachers sometimes threw me for a loop. One challenge in particular was eleventh grade chemistry with Mrs. Gumuka, and I will never forget it.
When I got my junior year schedule in the mail, I was ecstatic and could not wait to start a new year. After sharing my excitement with my friends, I learned that my future chemistry teacher was a nightmare, and suddenly I was not as excited as I had been. On the first day of school I walked in and chose a seat front and center, hoping she would take notice that I was interested and wanted to excel. Then once the bell rang, she shut the door and the yelling began. She told our class that the passing rate for her class has never exceeded more than fifty percent, and that if we wanted to do well we had to devote ALL of our time to chemistry. After the first few classes many students dropped, and switched from chemistry to physics, since she was the only one who taught chemistry at Schuylerville. But I being a fighter, decided to stick it out. I was working towards a goal after all.
I spent countless hours studying for the tests that she gave every other week, and the multiple pop quizzes that were scattered in between to keep us “sharp”; and even more time on the mounds of homework that she would assign daily. Im not one to complain about work load, but this teacher seriously gave too much homework! For the amount of time I spent working towards a good grade in the class, by the time midterms rolled around I had nothing to show for it. Although I did all of my homework, I bombed my tests and quizzes. My chemistry teacher would always belittle my fellow classmates and make us feel threatened by telling us “If we didnt have a question that had logical thinking, then to not bother asking it, because it wasted her time.” This caused me to move from my cozy and studious front row seat, to a last row, back seat, pen and sharpie ridden desk, that she called “Siberia”. I still continued to work my hardest, neglecting my family and friends to devote all of the time that I possibly could to chemistry; up until the final weeks of school.
In order to get accepted into the dental hygiene program at Hudson Valley you are required to have a seventy five in high school chemistry. It broke my heart at the end of the year to come to the realization that a seventy five was out of my reach. I had tried my hardest all year, and now felt defeated, by a power hungry chemistry teacher. On a hot June