#23 – Mirror
Uriah Higgins felt a surge of adrenaline as he read the first few lines of the short essay on his desk. For the first time in his short teaching career, he felt like a success. He felt like maybe, just maybe, he had finally gotten through and gotten a student to think.
He wanted to savor this moment.
He got up and drew the shades on his two classroom windows. The shades didn't shut out the noise coming from the band practice in the field beside his classroom, but that was okay. He sat back down, put on his glasses, and read.
Jake Berenson
3rd Period English Comp
March 4th, 1998
The Mirror
What do I see when I look into the mirror? It's a very tough question to answer, because I see many things, all of them different. A lot of the things I see conflict with each other. I guess that's just human nature, though; when I really stop to think about it, nothing about being human makes much sense. There are thousands of little wars that go on inside of us every day, and the sides which win those wars define us as a person. I assume it's the same for everybody; for me, I know I have to redefine myself as a person every single day.
The first thing I see when I look into the mirror is pride. I don't know if it's forced. I'm not sure if the pride I see is only there because it's a habit for me to make it be there. Regardless of the reason for it, that's the first thing I see when I look – pride.
I see the fear. I am afraid. Of nothing, of everything. Again, the reason for its presence isn't the important thing; the important part is that it's there. It's standing right beside the pride. Maybe the pride couldn't even live without the fear; maybe, if I weren't surviving in the face of this fear, I wouldn't have anything to be proud of.
Right underneath the fear and pride are two more characteristics that go along with them. I see desperation and hope. They're right behind pride and fear, and they're holding hands with each other, too. Sometimes they don't get along with each other; when they fight, I always want hope to win. Sometimes Desperation gets a first round knockout, but most times, Hope fights it to a judge's decision. And since I'm the one who gets to judge the fight, I always say Hope is the winner, whether it's true or not. Even if Desperation beats the living tar out of Hope for ten rounds, as long as Hope doesn't hit the canvas, I always raise Hope's hand and declare it the winner.
Quieter, there's determination. I see determination, but only after I look through the pride, fear, hope, and desperation. Even though it's not the first thing I see, I believe it's the biggest part of me. I believe that it has to be. It's the constant. It's the one characteristic which makes me who I am that never takes a holiday. Determination works straight through Christmas Eve, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Labor Day. I love determination like it's my oldest friend, and I'm always grateful that it's a part of me. Maybe that's why I give it the most space in the rental unit that, when taken together, makes Jake who he is.
What I see when I look in the mirror is like a bunch of scattered puzzle pieces. They're not all neatly put together, but if I try, I can still see the picture they make up. I can see it because I've put this puzzle together hundreds of times. I don't know if I like what I see. Maybe I don't. Maybe I hate it. But whether I like it or not doesn't matter, it's not important. It is what it is, and whether I think it's ideal or not is totally beside the point. The point is that I can see it. I know myself, for better or for worse.
Uriah re-read the essay three times before leaning back in his chair to consider what he'd read. He chewed on the ear of his reading glasses thoughtfully, and a slow smile spread across his face. He felt like he'd just been given a look into one of the great minds of his lifetime. The fact that grammatically and structurally the paper was pretty terrible never even crossed his mind.
'This kid has got something special,' Uriah thought. 'This kid is going places. Big, important places. And I got to teach him tenth grade English Comp.'
Still not thinking of the fact he was allegedly grading Jake's paper based on the grammar, punctuation, and composition, he wrote Fantastic Work! 105, A++! across the top. He'd never given a grade above a 100 before, but that was hardly relevant – he'd never read a work that deserved better than a 100 before. After a second's thought, he scribbled this under the grade:
Jake, I was moved by this. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to discuss it with you. Trust me, you're not in any kind of trouble – I want to pick your brain and find out if there's any way you can help me get this sort of work out of your classmates. Thank you for taking the assignment seriously, and excellent work!