Warren 1

Jeffrey Warren

Professor Stalbird

English 1101

29 May 2020

Finally Fitting In

The Baptist church across the street from my high school is so hot and stuffy my shirt is

stuck to my skin at this point. Seemingly endless rows of tables sit children in a tight and dusty

room. It wasn’t even summer yet, but I could barely grip my pencil from the copious amount of

sweat dripping from my fingertips. Why did the school insist the college competence exams be

taken in this old church? Was it the blazing heat and lack of ventilation or the feeling of dread in

my chest, knowing that this was my last chance, making me sweat profusely? My last chance to

do well on an exam I bombed the previous year. A test worth college credit that would affect the

classes I would take next year in college. Writing as quick as I could, I scribble the last sentence

of my third essay as part of the exhausting two-hour exam, with mere moments to spare. The test

proctors call out “pencils down!”. I did my best and there was no going back.

Two months ago, was just like any other school day. I hurriedly pushed my way through

the bustling high school halls to my last class of the day, English. Today was Friday, and that

means it’s free reading day, the best way to end the tedious school week. The day we can read

anything we want, pretty much anywhere we want, and so I always took this opportunity to read

outside. Any change of setting was a warm welcome when you spend forty hours a week

confined in one of those cold, uncomfortable prisons they call a desk.

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In the warm radiance of sunlight, I pick up The Great Gatsby for what felt like the

hundredth time. Despite my contention for looking at these familiar pages again, I have no

intention of trying something new to read. After all, physics is my passion and I haven’t read for

enjoyment since I was a child. As I pretend to read, staring at the same page for the second or

third minute straight, I was startled out of my trace by the shadow of Darren McGarvey, the

English teacher. He asks to speak with me privately, and so I depart from my fellow students

reading outside and walk with my teacher to the hall. Mr. McGarvey is a rather short fellow with

a slightly hunched back and a hairline that had been receding for quite some time. He is also

extremely invested into drama and the art of acting. He put on all the school plays and oversaw

drama club. Saying English is a big part of his life is a huge understatement.

He questions me almost immediately as the door from outside swung shut “Jeff, can you

please tell me why you didn’t sign up for the advanced placement English exam?”.

Rather startled, I pause and question “How did you know I didn’t” ignoring his question

and asking my own.

“Teachers can easily access that information. You signed up for every other AP exam for

the corresponding class you’re taking this year, but not English, why?” he replied, his voice

incredibly stern, despite his slight lisp.

I remove my gaze from his staring brown eyes and look down at the ground. I had scored

a two out of five on last year’s AP English exam. Not enough to gain college credit, just a

number in my head that displayed my failure. A reminder that my days of college level English

are far from over. Angrily, I spit back at him “I don’t know, I’m going to major in physics, and I

got a two on last year’s test, what’s the point?”.

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He is visibly taken aback. After a slight pause, he straightened his hunched back and

exerted “I can’t believe that you got a two. That is an absolute fluke. I promise if you take this

years’ exam you will do well”. “And you should retake the last years test too.” He added.

How could he be so confident in my ability? This was the same year my calculus teacher

referred to me as the epitome of laziness, and my physics professor said my approach to physics

was far too laid back. Most of my teachers this year had given me constant little reminders that I

wasn’t doing as well as some of the other students. As though I didn’t belong. “Jeff?” he

questioned calmly. I was staring at the ground for what must’ve been fifteen full seconds. Saved

by the bell. “I’ll think about it” I reply, not meeting his eyes, as I shuffle away to grab my things.

The next Monday, as English class ended, Mr. McGarvey asks me to wait behind. And

so, I wait patiently at my desk as he answers the students who had questions after class. I have a

feeling he was going to talk about the tests again. How am I going to tell him that I don’t care

about English and that I would only be taking the tests for the future credit they offered? After

the other students depart, he walks to his file cabinet and pulls out two medium sized textbooks.

He saunters over to my desk and sets them down. Two study guides for the two English tests we

spoke about the previous week. Mr. McGarvey, without my response on knowing I would say

yes, explains to me that he requested to the school/AP board that I be allowed to sign up late for

the AP tests, and gathered the appropriate study guides for the tests, for one of which he didn’t

even teach. His act of kindness, and unwavering support of a student clearly uninterested in his

passion for English completely stunned me. Since I joined advanced placement classes, none of

my teachers had shown any extra effort or interest in me. I feel like just a number to them; like

another student churned out by the school system. Mr. McGarvey is different. I know he cares

about his students. Maybe he sees a version of his past self in his troubled students. McGarvey
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was gay, and later I learned, an orphan. He probably had a very difficult high school experience

trying to fit in. I wonder if he had a teacher that supported him back then? Or maybe he was

trying to be the teacher he wished he had when he was my age. Mr. McGarvey is the only

teacher that ever visited me when I was in in-school-suspension this year. He is the only teacher

that asks what’s going on in my life and offers any support he can. The only teacher that speaks

beyond the surface level and talks about the true hardships of life.

Mr. McGarvey explains that it may take some time to hear back from the school if I am

able to take the test, but he has faith that they will allow me, and that I should begin to prepare as

soon as possible. In that moment I felt his confidence transfer to me. I knew I could do it. All the

doubt that had plagued me this year of fitting in to these difficult classes vanished. With only two

months left to prepare for a college competence exam, I agree to try my best, and I immediately

began to read the guides he gave me with a reinstated vigor.

I took that test over eight years ago, and yet, I can still see the face of Mr. McGarvey as I

told him I scored a four out of five and a five out of five on the two exams. His voice became

completely giddy and jumped an octave or two as he exclaimed how he was extremely proud of

me. He left me with the hope that, even though I will not need to take an English class in college

for my degree, that I continue to read for enjoyment, and find a genre in reading that speaks to

me. I will never forget how support from just one person can make such a difference. How a

little extra effort can help motivate someone to heights they didn’t think possible. I owe a lot of

gratitude to Mr. McGarvey for helping me fit in the last few months of my senior year. Because

of the actions of Mr. McGarvey, I haven’t worried about fitting in since.