The Story of Alisa, Part 2
What I should have been when I grew up
When I was in 5th grade, I wrote a series of book reports for extra credit. My English teacher gave me a C- on each and every one of them. When I asked her why she had not given me the A+s that I’d become accustomed to getting, she said, “I gave you a C- because you can’t write.”
Well, if you read Part 1 of The Story of Alisa, then you know that I’m not your usual kid. Your usual kid might have been a little disappointed. Your usual kid might have said, “So I can’t write. But I’m good at math and history! And what President has ever needed writing skills anyway? That’s what speech writers and ghost writers are for!”
I wasn’t that kid. I was the kind of kid who, when a person tells her she can’t do something, becomes downright determined to prove that person wrong. Because, after all, that person IS INDEED WRONG. I was brilliant. Even my grandmother thought so.
So, on that day, I decided to become a writer. That would show Mrs. C.
Then in 7th grade I took an aptitude test. I was sure that the test would reveal just one thing. It was this: I destined was to become America’s next great Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist.
But that’s not what the test found. No, according to this aptitude test? I had great aptitude to become a mail carrier.
Now that I had to prove Mrs. C and the aptitude test wrong? A career in writing was almost inevitable.
Plus, it must be said that some member of my family who was very loosely related to me had worked as an editor of some sort at a publishing house somewhere in New York. As far as I was concerned, a career in writing was in my blood.
So, in high school, I started writing for the school paper.
My senior year, the teacher advisor choose me to become the paper’s managing editor. She picked someone else, let’s call him S, as editor in chief.
Well. That. Did. It.
Now I not only had to become a writer, I had to become a better writer than S so I could prove that I should have been editor in chief instead of him.
Well, don’t you know, I won a Scripps Howard Journalism Scholarship to Penn State? I was really proud of that fact, especially because I was pretty sure that S did not win a similar scholarship. Then again, he went to a different school, so it’s possible that I just didn’t hear about his writing scholarships.
Penn State decided that I was not smart enough to enter as an honors student or start during fall semester with the other really smart kids. I had to start during summer session, with the kids who were deemed not quite as smart. The admissions people apparently had never had lunch with my grandmother or aunt. If they had? They would have accepted me for fall semester because they would have known about my brilliance.
I now not only had to become a better writer than S, I also had to prove to Penn State that I was smart enough to be an honors student.
When my journalism teacher gave me an F on my first assignment? I called my mother at 5 a.m. and cried my heart out, telling her that I sucked, was fat and was going to drop out of school. She sent me flowers and told me she loved me.
After I finished crying, I realized that dropping out of school would mean that Mrs. C was right. It would also mean that S was a better writer than me, that I did not have what it took to be an honors student, and that Penn State probably shouldn’t have accepted me at all.
If I’d dropped out of school, I also would have had to pay back my scholarship, because, it would have meant that another kid deserved it more than I did.
I pulled myself together and pledged to not only become a better writer than S and an honors student, but also convince Professor Johnson that I deserved to pass her class.
I got an A. Professor Johnson went on to mentor me and become one of my most favorite people of all time.
I became an honors student.
I got a job at the Writing Center as a writing tutor. I helped some of Penn State’s football players pass their writing comp classes.
I became a reporter and then an editor at the student run newspaper. I met some of the coolest and most talented students at the Collegian–students who were better writers and reporters than I was. Even my grandmother would have agreed. They awed me every day.
Along the way, I also did the following: perfected the art of the keg stand, swallowed a goldfish while it was still alive, did shots of all sorts of varieties of alcohol, painted my face blue and white, threw marshmallows at my fellow students, spent a lot of time thinking about whether or not the library was haunted by the student who’d been murdered in the library’s stacks years before, and overslept my 8 o’clock classes. This was all a normal part of Penn State life.
Despite all of that, I graduated with a really ass-kicking GPA was invited into Phi Beta Kappa.
Now I’m going to give you a Cliffs Notes version of my career, because 1) it seems only fitting since I just told you about college life and Cliffs Notes are a big part of college life 2) I can’t think of much of anything interesting to say about the various jobs I’ve held other than the fact that I held them. So here goes:
- I got a job as a newspaper reporter.
- I really didn’t like knocking on doors and asking grieving parents for photos of their dead children, so I quit after three years and, instead, got a job working as a staff writer at a publishing house. While there, I bought my first home computer. It was a used 386 PC that the company was getting rid of. Another highlight from these years: I met my husband.
- I got bored writing A to Z health encyclopedias, so I quit that job and instead started working as an editor at Runner’s World. While there, I ran three marathons. Another highlight from these years: I married my husband.
- Eventually, I realized I could make more money as an independent contractor, so I quit that job and went freelance. I doubled my salary that first year. I now support my family with my income.
As a freelancer, I ghost wrote 6 NY Times best sellers and got published in Better Homes & Gardens, Women’s Health, Men’s Health, Prevention, Yoga Journal and more.
Mrs. C? Soooo wrong. So, so wrong.
Whatever became of S? I have no idea, but I hope he’s successful, too, even if that means he’s a better writer than I am. I’m a better person now than I once was. Even if S won a Pulitzer and got on Oprah to talk about it? I’d be really happy for him. I would. Honest.
Next: The life event that caused me to start writing about myself.
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Tags: About Alisa
August 20th, 2009 at 11:03 am
It’s amasing the motivation a “misguided” teacher can inspire.
In high school, I was part of a superb “experiment” designed by Columbia University: a combined history and English course called the Core Program. When we studied ancient Greece, for example, we also read the plays of Aeschylus. I had two years of this, taught by the two best teachers in the school. Then I had to take one more history course and pass the dreaded New York State History Regents exam. I got the worst teacher in the school. She also hated the “Core Babies,” as she called us, because she felt we had been pampered, had it easy, and did not have to learn the “facts.”
It did not help that I got sick that spring, with the terrible flu that was rampent in 1958 and it was followed by a strep infection (no doubt caused because I went back to school before I was over the flu). I missed three weeks of school, and returned the day of a history unit test which, of course, I failed.
To prove to this teacher she had underestimated me, I begged for another chance. No go. My only recourse was to study so hard for the regents that I would earn a high enough grade to offset this “F.” I did just that. I met with a friend every day after school and we memorized the history of the world–every battle, every date, every damn fact. When Miss Excuse for a Teacher passed out the grades, she came to me, smiled, and said “This was a pleasant surprise.” I could tell she did not mean it. I had earned a 95. She awarded me a “C” for the course, the only “C” I ever received in my four years of high school.
I did not become an historian. But I did become a college-level English instructor, an artist, I published a book about a Delaware artist, ran a DE state wide arts program, and now, in my “granny” years, I am director of education of an arts appreciation foundation. I owe it all to Miss Excuse for a Teacher.
August 20th, 2009 at 12:10 pm
Great post. My 10th grade English teacher also told me that I’d never be a writer. She also made me write stupid essay without using “to be verbs.” Years later, I spent 10 years writing for a national magazine. I’ve always wanted to call her and tell her this. Sometimes you just need to prove people wrong. And don’t always listen to what others say.
August 20th, 2009 at 12:19 pm
I kind of want to track down your teacher, Beth, and send her this line: To be or not to be….
And then ask her if it sounds familiar.
Not that passive voice IS great, but sometimes IT IS the best way to go.
August 20th, 2009 at 6:37 pm
Love this! I feel the exact same way about my college pr professor. He actually told me to shut my mouth during a presentation because I didn’t know what I was talking about. I got C’s or worse on every press release I wrote. After I graduated, started my own PR firm, and decided to do everything the complete opposite that I was taught in college, I’ve landed clients in every major magazine and most top TV shows and have won business awards for my pr work.
I guess it’s immature for us to want to rub these situations in their face, but sometimes you just can’t help but giggle in glee
August 20th, 2009 at 7:47 pm
so so me.
December 4th, 2009 at 2:23 pm
Lovely.
I think I see some of myself in there somewhere. My mother certainly would. She likes to illustrate my so-called determination by telling (and re-telling) the story of how I learned to walk. Apparently, 11 months old and still edging my way around the room—grabbing chairs, sofas, tables–anything to support myself but not standing or walking on my own. Pretty pathetic.
My dad walked in the room and took one look at me stumbling around like a drunk in a bar and declared that I would not be walking before my first birthday. He turned on his heel and walked out again, surely disgusted.
My mother swears I understood him, which is why, according to her, I learned to walk that day.
Determination is the stuff of life. And Alisa, you got it.