Once per month my Creative Writing class writes a Teen Ink to be shared as an assignment. We are given the option to write a second piece in order to receive extra credit, but many students do not do that. This is my first out of two Teen Inks. This will not be shared, but rather hidden away somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind; suppressed, rather than enthusiastically squeezed like two best friends hugging.
Originally, the title was “Why Teen Ink is Important to Me,” it offers an excellent place to vent and hear about the dark underlying tones of adolescence growing up in a world where a dollar bill is equivalent to a napkin. It's a safe zone, but after looking at the title, it was changed. School is the safe zone for me.
No, I don't get abused. No, I'm not homeless. I rather live a privileged life. I'm thankful for what I have and I am contented by what I have, which is enough. It is how my parents raised me, don't be spoiled, just be happy. Of course, as a child I didn't see this, I would be the one throwing boxes of candy screaming in a tantrum, but it all worked out in the end. School is probably the most important infrastructure in any teenager's life. Most likely, most students view it as a social wonderland filled with learning of how the world works, but it's a bit different to me.
I found out that I was a bit different at a young age, “gifted” is what they would call me. A label that sticks to this day and rather than making me feel good about myself as it once had, rather makes me sick to my stomach today. It's held high above my head so that I can watch and be tortured by the thought of what is expected of me. Straight A's? Me? Why would anyone expect that? I feel like a normal person. I look like a normal person. Am I not just another normal person? What does it mean to be smart? To have a “better thinking process?” I've always wanted to be the kid who gets a C, but I'm not allowed. Most kids think it's a blessing to be in the higher classes, jokingly calling us nerds, geeks, dorks, but at the same time harshly scarring us with labels. Bruises heal, I much rather would have been beaten up every day, emotional scars are left as reminders to stain the connotation of words. Every time the word smart comes up, I remember being called a nerd, a geek, or a dork.
So obviously I don't like school for social reasons.
Why is school so important to me then? Do I like teachers? They're wonderful people, but not the reason I love school. Do I like doing work? I probably do the bare minimum in order to maintain above a 4.0 GPA. Maybe it's the fact that I get to be out of the house for about eight hours? Still no, I have a wonderful life.
It's that I actually get to prove myself and prove others wrong. Despite all the bits of doubt and anger, I know that I can be better for myself. It doesn't matter if people have faith in me, I have enough confidence that I can prove them wrong. I've done it plenty of times and I'll do it again. It's only a little bit harder when you have to prove your parents wrong. Again, they claim they give up on me, but when I am able to turn around and say I'm done with my work and that I'm happily moving on with my life and leaving for college, I won't turn my back on them for not believing in me. I'd rather thank them for giving me the drive to push myself, rather than hearing their bitter words push me. I don't think they realize that by giving up on me, they've only created a new facet in my life, one with drive and a throbbing passion to prove them wrong and strive to be better.
I would never say that I dislike or hate my parents, they may yell at me, argue with me, or give up on me, but I will always love them. If school is what they're interested in about me, then I will exceed their beliefs in that area. I will always prove them wrong, but never will I feel resent for them.