Drawing My Sword
For being at school that boasts so much about the Harkness method and the importance of participation, I set myself up for failure. Throughout middle school and freshmen year, I was the quiet kid who never asked questions. No, that’s a dumb question, I would tell myself. Why would anyone ever ask that? I don’t want to make a fool of myself. So I held my questions until I had a chance to Google them. I always struggled through difficult problems on my own. The only collaboration I had was with group projects and forced peer edit sessions in class. I prided myself on my independence—I didn’t need anyone’s help, and at the same time, I feared judgment from my classmates. But my system didn’t work at Exeter.
The first few weeks of lower fall, the only words I mumbled around the table were my name, grade, dorm and where I lived. I watched my classmates debate across, points flying back and forth across the table like a tennis match. Sometimes I heard them obliterate someone’s insightful point, and sometimes I listened as they strengthened another’s idea. I feared entering that arena—that is, English class—everyday. The only classes I felt comfortable in were math and Latin. I put up the easy problems in math, knowing I could be spared from my classmates’ criticism. Math was my “thing” so I knew that my work was adequate. Latin was a small class and the term started out with a review of the previous year so I worked my way through the course, offering up translations frequently.
As we delved further into fall term, math began getting more difficult, and what was once my “thing” started failing me. I thought that I needed to finish all eight of the homework problems with complete accuracy before class. I agonized over vectors, unable to visualize them. I didn’t get the derivation of trig identities and linear regression was not my friend. On top of that, I didn’t know how to use a graphing calculator. Up until this point, the numbers had been simple enough that I could calculate by hand. On my first math test, when an "Alex the Geologist" problem came up that didn’t have pretty numbers, I panicked. My heart pounded as I told Mr. Wolfson how I was calculator challenged, and he scolded my lack of initiative. This was the first time I asked for any help at Exeter. But even then—in the middle of the test—he gave me a quick rundown on how to use the max function. That night an upper in my dorm heard me fret about my calculator issues and sat with me for an hour showing me every relevant function on the TI-89.
Nevertheless, I was still afraid to ask for help. I spoke maybe once per class in English, usually only clarifying someone’s point. I rushed to math class and was that obnoxious kid who “called” problems before class (to the point where I would rock-paper-scissors someone for my problem). My papers and test scores were decent, but my participation grades suffered. I didn’t know how to get into the discussion. Once I did, I didn’t know what to say. I refused to go to peer tutoring, mostly because I was afraid of going by myself. I relied on the Internet, and my own neural networks to make it through lower fall.
As time passed, I started talking a bit more in class—meaning now a max of two comments per class. I spent more time arguing internally over whether or not I should ask my question rather than just thinking of one. I began stressing as I watched the minutes go by and still hadn’t said anything and then finally blurted out a random point just as the class ended. I tried writing out all my points before class, but whenever I did that, the class discussed topics I hadn’t even considered. I still feared my classmates’ intelligence—partly because I thought I wasn’t at their level and feared getting shut down.
Upper year was the turning point. I knew it was an important academic year and I didn’t want to struggle through it like the previous year. I dropped my pride in asking for help and approached my teachers early in the term. I remember constantly bothering Dr. Wade to help me with participation. In a class filled with Harkness warriors, I complained about how I feared talking because when I did say something, it got looked over. It was during my time working with Dr. Wade that I realized how helpful and understanding teachers could be. I used to think that teachers only worshipped the winning gladiators in the Harkness arena. I started meeting with my teachers more frequently and asking them questions about the material. I’m pretty sure I met with Ms. Girard every other week during my free for math help and Mr. BreMiller constantly on how to get involved in discussion. I used to view extra help as “weak,” but now I realized that it makes you a stronger person by being proactive in your education. While I developed bonds with my teachers, I did the same with my classmates—forming study groups before every test and going over labs and talking out papers. I became friends with my currents friends today through classes and classes alone. It was only after struggling through Chem 319 and History 333 that we discovered our shared interests. I found a way to be interdependent at Exeter, and that’s possibly the greatest thing Exeter has taught me.
Even now, I’m pretty quiet in class—it’s my personality and there’s not much I can do to change that. I’m not mute, though, and I do ask questions now. I no longer fear my classmates, but rather expect them to help me develop or completely alter my idea. I wish I had started participating earlier because Harkness is so much more fun when you’re part of it. I wish I could easily let go of my self-conscious nature and speak my ideas and defend them when contested. Sometimes, I can feel my lower year self emerge again, but I take action now and talk to my teachers, my friends. I let them guide me instead of relying on just myself.
I also realized that no one remembers what you said in class unless it was incredibly brilliant or incredibly funny. I learned that any question and any statement, even something somewhat meaningless, can spark an idea in someone’s mind. I discovered that my quiet voice can govern the classroom just as well as a loud one. The English class arena I feared lower year was all inside my head. I just needed to draw my sword.