He says I can’t write, that I need to take his old teacher’s writing class. This makes me ball my fists as I tearfully ball the paper I conceived in my hand. It goes to the basket by my desk, with the other manuscripts I thought to be, as Miss Mary Poppins would say, “practically perfect.” It is truly funny how one’s imagination can run away, making you think— “nobody shall ever match my expertise!” That is, until your father gets a hold of it and takes out his blazing red pen. Then I cry harder than ever as my “once beautiful” science test comes back to me.

“Dad!” I cry. “I almost made a B! It’s not that bad, right?” Maybe I was wrong to add the last bit, but, you know, you’ve gotta fight your fights when you’re able. I readily lost interest in science after that outburst.

But when you’re young it is all a game (take it from me: I’m SUPER wise at 15). At least, sometimes--such as when you perhaps catch in your mind that there is absolutely no need to study for the final exam. You are so intelligent you’ll *surely* make an “A” without needless trying. (Picture me nodding earnestly.) When I’m older, I’ll probably think that as a young person, I was the stupidest kind. Of course, I’ve always studied for a final. I think…

On my very first quarterly science exam, my paternal unit wrote in bold upon my test paper, “FIERY RED PEN!!!” At the time, it was humorous. Yet I moan now at the mention of his crimson writing utensil.

For right now, I think my goals in life, in school, are to not think I know it all, (because I don’t), but to remember the wise thing to do, that will help a student or writer succeed at his task. “I am not wise, but I have seen who the wise and experienced person puts their will and strength into when the going is tough.” God! and their textbook!!! (A revelation!!) What a gift to mankind! I think I will always remind myself of these two to aid in getting on with my life. Try it, you’ll see.