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When I got 75% on my APUSH multiple choice test, I was okay with that; it's not my best subject. When I got a B on my AP environmental test, I was okay with that; it’s not my best subject. But two threes and a two on the AP Calc test? That’s what upset me. |
I was on the phone with my friend when the grades were put in google classroom. The grades rolled in one by one: a three, and she got a four. Another three, and she got a four. Surely I did better on the last one… a two. A two? She got a four.
Most people would be happy with that grade. But I'm supposed to be good at math. I’m not good at anything else. People ask me for help on their corrections and homework, but now I can’t help. I got a two. She didn’t get it, my friend couldn’t comprehend why I was upset, but she doesn’t like math. All of my friends never want to take calculus again, but not me. I love calculus, I’m good at it. Or I’m supposed to be.
I love baking. Especially making cookies. I’m good at it. Everyone loves my cookies. One day, I was talking to my mom about it, and she told me my cookies weren't all that. She said they were too sweet and kind of hard. She said she was sparing my feelings because my friends were probably lying to me about liking the cookies. I told my dad what she said, and he said it was my fault my feelings got hurt because I took what she said to heart. My niece and nephew were over, and I thought it was a good idea to make them donuts. I’ve made them before but not from scratch, but I'm pretty good at baking. They were a little overcooked, but not terrible. The donuts went untouched. My dad told me they weren’t good and I should just throw them away because no one was going to eat them. I threw them away.
I wanted to try to make bread. I wanted to make the bread with the oat coated crust like the bread my friend buys. I cleaned the kitchen to prepare. I told my dad if the bread was bad to not tell me. He asked me what kind of person can’t take constructive criticism, and he left with my mom to go to the store. As I was washing the dishes, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I was so scared of failing… again. I’m supposed to be good at baking. I couldn’t breathe, and my tears were mixing with the dishwater, but I couldn’t wipe my eyes. I made the bread. I accidentally baked it on too high heat, and it didn’t rise enough. It still tasted good, but wasn’t the best. I refused to let anyone try it. I love baking. I’m good at it. Or I’m supposed to be.
I’m supposed to be good. I’m supposed to be smart, yet I seem to fall short no matter what I do. People brag about what I do, but that isn’t me. I don’t do these amazing things y’all say, and I’m not this amazing person. If I was, I would’ve gotten a four on that test, and my parents wouldn’t berate the baking they once endlessly praised. I can’t even get the thing I'm supposedly good at right. Yall stretch my truth until it snaps, breaking me into pieces. While still claiming I am good. How am I to believe that? How do I live up to what I’m supposed to be when I can’t even make cookies right?
Most people would be happy with that grade. But I'm supposed to be good at math. I’m not good at anything else. People ask me for help on their corrections and homework, but now I can’t help. I got a two. She didn’t get it, my friend couldn’t comprehend why I was upset, but she doesn’t like math. All of my friends never want to take calculus again, but not me. I love calculus, I’m good at it. Or I’m supposed to be.
I love baking. Especially making cookies. I’m good at it. Everyone loves my cookies. One day, I was talking to my mom about it, and she told me my cookies weren't all that. She said they were too sweet and kind of hard. She said she was sparing my feelings because my friends were probably lying to me about liking the cookies. I told my dad what she said, and he said it was my fault my feelings got hurt because I took what she said to heart. My niece and nephew were over, and I thought it was a good idea to make them donuts. I’ve made them before but not from scratch, but I'm pretty good at baking. They were a little overcooked, but not terrible. The donuts went untouched. My dad told me they weren’t good and I should just throw them away because no one was going to eat them. I threw them away.
I wanted to try to make bread. I wanted to make the bread with the oat coated crust like the bread my friend buys. I cleaned the kitchen to prepare. I told my dad if the bread was bad to not tell me. He asked me what kind of person can’t take constructive criticism, and he left with my mom to go to the store. As I was washing the dishes, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I was so scared of failing… again. I’m supposed to be good at baking. I couldn’t breathe, and my tears were mixing with the dishwater, but I couldn’t wipe my eyes. I made the bread. I accidentally baked it on too high heat, and it didn’t rise enough. It still tasted good, but wasn’t the best. I refused to let anyone try it. I love baking. I’m good at it. Or I’m supposed to be.
I’m supposed to be good. I’m supposed to be smart, yet I seem to fall short no matter what I do. People brag about what I do, but that isn’t me. I don’t do these amazing things y’all say, and I’m not this amazing person. If I was, I would’ve gotten a four on that test, and my parents wouldn’t berate the baking they once endlessly praised. I can’t even get the thing I'm supposedly good at right. Yall stretch my truth until it snaps, breaking me into pieces. While still claiming I am good. How am I to believe that? How do I live up to what I’m supposed to be when I can’t even make cookies right?
Angel Cal
