God Has a Since of Humor



He does. Trust me. I am a prime example. The dark clouds loomed over the tiny town of Spearville, Kansas. Just like any other kid on any other day in any other town, I would wake up and go to school. Unfortunately for me, today was more than just a normal day in a normal town. I woke up about thirty hours late for school, and I freaked out when I saw 7:30 on the clock. School starts at 7: 45, and I was rushing to get out of the house by 7:40. Okay, I need to explain myself, and I’ll stop the woe is me for a moment to let this exhilarating story unfold. My name is Rhan. Some people call me cocky about my academic prowess, but I call it confidence. By the way, my name is pronounced Ron. In many ways, I am like the other kids in my 11th grade class. However, I also have many differences. For instance, I am 6’4”. I have white hair and red eyes. As you would probably notice, this sounds strange. Yes, I have Albinism. This means that I lack nutrients in my body that give many people pigments. This pigment is called melanin. My only real friend is a guy named Jim. Jim, a 5’11” brown haired boy and a junior as well, had also faced his share of challenges throughout his life. Disrespected, mistreated, and abused in public schools, he had enough and is now in private school. Back to the story. As I was walking to my bus pickup, I realized that I forgot my backpack. I made a mad dash back into my house, skidding across the kitchen floor. I sprinted back toward the bus as it pulled away. Waving my arms wildly and yelling at the top of my lung, I finally got the driver to stop and wait for me.
For homeroom, I have Ms. Dobbs. Of course, she is your normal old teacher, white hair and a humongous grouch. The first part of the day is so exciting. The kids all screaming to get from class to class, people “in love” (so to speak) are getting to class late, like I’m sure it is in any other school, mostly hectic. Things got interesting later in the day, when Jim asked me the question of the century.
“What’s up Jim?” I questioned walking through the hallway.
“Nothing much, did you study for the test?” he responded.
I thought he was kidding, but that wasn’t the end of it. I got a text in second period. “Hey didn’t u hear? We hav a final xam 2day.” I was shocked. Final exams count for 40% of the quarter’s grade. There was no way I would be ready for this test. But who needs to study? I’m better at tests than Eric Hosmer is at baseball. My pencil becomes a mighty sword carving its way through the most perilous battlefield. I wasn’t worried at all. After all, what teacher would give a bad grade to a poor kid with my condition?
Next period happened to be the best class, study hall. I wanted to be ready for the test, even though I did not have the means or time to do so. Halfway through study hall, I realize that I have no idea what material will even be on the test. After asking around, I heard that it was on World War II, which is one of my favorite subjects. Momentarily, I thought maybe this would work out after all.
As I start to remember more and more about the test, I realize the person I talked to was in the World Studies normal class. I was in the Honors World Studies class. What was I supposed to do now? My test was on the Vietnam War, and there was no time to study left, so I figured all I could do was attempt to keep from flunking. As far as tests go, this one really was picking at my cufflinks. It couldn’t be that hard. I am an A+ honor student, right?
Much too quickly, it was time for the test. Oh, God! The suspense could be cut with a butter knife. It could not be that hard, though. At least, that is what I thought at first. Everyone knew by now what kind of day I’d had, that I hadn’t studied at all. The horrible, merciful eyes of every single student watched me. The test being handed out, worse than anything on this Earth, or under it if you get what I mean. First Question: Name. I was 1-1! The next few stumped me. Like a deer in the headlights, I just stood there staring, even though the questions were obviously quite simple for everyone else. People were so judgmental. It was easy to tell that I had not studied, but I feel as if there was a whole lot more to this than what I could have imagined. How hard could a teacher make one test? It was like the teacher had it in for me, like he actually expected me to prepare for it. When I turned the test in, my teacher asked me if I had studied. I put my head down and walked away. He knew as well as I did that I had failed.
The next morning was not much better. I was scared to go to school fearing what my score might be. If I scored really low, I would not pass this quarter in World Studies. Pass equaled pass, fail equaled fail. As 5th period rolled around, I figured I would be missing my Xbox for a while. I was deader than a doornail.
As I walked in, the one thing I wanted to avoid was the inevitable fact that I would have to check the scores. Finally, I worked up the courage. I needed a 60%. That’s it. It would be easy. Slowly making my way to the sheet, I took a deep breath. As the moment arrives, I think about everything important to me. Especially grades. Grades can make or break a career, and could possibly mean a mansion or the streets. I raised my eyes, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Well to put it lightly, I did not understand. Not only did I not get that 60%, but far from it. Far from ¾ of it. I ended up with a 33%. I felt undermined, period. That little period of serenity that preceded fell flat and withered away, leaving bare bones crying in its place. I heard a keen screeching sound, and then realized it was coming from me.
As I stood there completely humiliated, I knew it was all my fault. Confidence can be a good thing, but when it becomes cockiness, it turns into a bad thing. It had also been stupid of me to rely on my disability to pave an easy road for me through life. There is no substitute for preparation and hard work. (1,191)