For a long time, I didn’t hate any number. Numbers didn’t affect my life enough for me to hate them. Hate, itself, is a strong word, but I feel like it is relavent to my case.
Let’s rewind a bit now. Before I dive into the eighties, I’m going to talk about nineties. Growing up, I like seeing A’s on my grades and papers. Society has associated A’s to success, above average, and plain awesomeness. I got so used to them, to put it simple, I didn’t think about how I would feel without them. I set my standard so high. I know other people who have been hit by life and school so hard, they gave up on A’s. I never did. A’s were my friends. They like me, I like them. But this year. This school year has been tough.
To say I am average would be an understatement. To say I am a genius would be an overstatement. This year, I lost sight of my A friends. They kind of hid and laughed at me. At my laziness and less commitment to them. At my increasing homework and decreasing sleep time. These A’s took a vaca. And guess whose the substitute. The B’s.
If it isn’t hard enough. I hate a particular B in the family. The 88 B. When you have an 89, teachers can round you up and and up to the beautiful, elite A class. But an 88. It mocks you. It tells you hey, you worked so hard and all you can get is a high B. Muhahahaha. It’s similar to getting second place. So close, but not. Or like being the one person that is next in line, but all the goods ran out and the person before you got the last one. I hate 88, and I’m stuck with one. Granted it is better than all the grades below it, it didn’t reach my standard. My standard. The few limits I actually place on myself.
Let’s admit it. Everyone wants to excel. But we all have reputations we have to live up to. We can excel them, but to be below them is a shame.
So I ask the teachers who give 88’s. Isn’t 89 such a better number? Better yet, isn’t first place, A’s, always better than second, B’s? Don’t they want their students to do well? To be happy? To be more healthy with less stress? I rarely beg, unless it means a lot to me. My grades do. Please, every teacher out there. Be considerate. Could you hate a student enough to subject them to an 88?
Out of fuel for now,