People love to tell us a lot of things that make us seem like life is a game of choice. I agree; decisions in life are present everyday, whether it’s eating a sandwich of having Boston Market. But, quite frankly, so many aspects of our life are just given to us by random figures, who we don’t even know.
Seventh grade seemed so far away. My years in elementary school just ended, and summer vacation was definitely a time to have fun, not think about school. Besides, my grades weren’t too bad, and I was slated for an “SP,” or rather, advanced, class for my junior high school years. Great.
My two years in middle school proved to the worst experience of my life. The math teacher assigned to me was utterly atrocious; he could not control his class, and I often had to sit with the dunces of my class. So, when high school rolled around, math became my worst subject. I took the specialized high school entrance exam during eighth grade, hoping for a paradise escape. I came up a bit short for my dream high, Bronx Science. I knew I did terrible on the math section, considering that mathematics was often my lowest section during simulation tests. Thanks to whoever programed me for 726, my class in Junior High School, I received literary no math education during seventh and eighth grade, resulting in a 33 point deficit of receiving admission into one of the best high schools in New York.
My luck in high school proved to be less fruitful. My freshmen year came with a math teacher who yelled at me for being late the first day of high school; I utterly hated her, and I ended up failing both terms, but she had to pass me, since I scored a 76 on the regents. I was placed into a lower math class for sophomore year. I asked for a transfer into a better class, and I got my request. However, once again, the teacher was infamous for letting her entire class talk, without regard. This is exactly what happened my entire sophomore year. I hoped for a better teacher in junior year, as I was taking the most disheartening test in the world: The SATs. I started out the school year with an amazing teacher, but I was transferred out due to the high volume of students in my class. I was stuck, again, with the same teacher I had during sophomore year.
We really don’t have the control we hope for the little kinks of our lives. I can go on hoping that I wasn’t placed in 726, but that’s simply the past. The simple push of a button that person made to put me into that room doomed me for eternity. Maybe I could have ended up in Bronx Science. Maybe even Stuyvesant. Perhaps I could have done better on my math portion of the SATs, which I scored the lowest out of the three parts.
I don’t know, but I sure wish I do.