Seventh grade was a year of firsts for me and they all
happened during the same project: Culture Fair. Now, I was warned about this
project, all of the seventh graders were.
All that was needed were the words “culture” and “fair” to be mentioned
together in the same sentence and the head of an older student would pop up and
begin to give us their valuable insight. “Oh, that was the worst,” they
would say. That wonderful piece of news
was followed by, “I hated that,” or a face of pity and a “good luck.” Of course I didn’t believe it would be as bad
as they said. They were just messing with us…right? Wrong.
This was one of those month long assignments that decided
whether or not we pass the class. We had to create a high-quality poster about
an occupation or something involving the local community. There had to be
pictures, lengthy paragraphs of information, quotes, and graphs on the display
poster. On the day of the Fair, the posters had to be displayed for the whole
community to see. We also had to interview someone and write an entire multiple
page essay about their career. Everything had to be accomplished by the
strictest deadlines I had ever seen.
The whole “presenting the poster” part was just as nerve wracking
as all the research. One day, my teacher
Ms. Berg informed us that on the day of Culture Fair the community members
would come up to us and ask us questions about what we learned and how we
learned it. I was an extremely shy
person. So that portion of the project is what seemed the most impossible.
To make matters worse there was also an unspoken competition
among the students. Students from years past had been known to go beyond
expectations. Some even brought free goodies to share with the visitors. No one
in my grade wanted to be the one with the lame display. To you this must seem
like no big deal. But to me, this was the toughest academic challenge I had
faced in my thirteen years of existence.
The first thing I did when I got home was vent everything on
to my parents. They didn’t hesitate, looked right at me and said, “Don’t worry.
Everything is going to be alright. We will help you.”
I decided that my project would be on my father’s job. He works in law enforcement in the state of
Washington. He helped set up interviews on the phone and allowed me to pester
him for hours with an infinite barrage of questions. Whenever I would get
stressed and start to break down, my mom would pull me aside and give me one of
her famous 20-second hugs. (She says that a twenty-second hug can make anyone
feel better and I think she’s right.) My mom is very good with crafts so she
showed me how to use her Cricut machine, gave me other supplies, and taught me
how to match colors for my poster.
When the time came to put all I had learned into an essay, I
spent days trying to form a praiseworthy report. Time seemed to slow the second
my pencil touched the paper. I remember thinking that this is what it must feel
like to be in college and that I am glad that I won’t be there anytime soon. (I
laugh whenever I think about that now.) Somehow I managed to keep myself rooted
at the table as I struggled to finish the last of my tasks. I wrote the most
citations I ever had before, printed graphs, included quotes from the
interview, and searched for the most interesting facts. I did not stop until
the last word was written. This was surprising because everyone who knew me
knew that I can have the shortest attention span that anyone without ADD can
have.
A month of worrying and working passed all too quickly and
the day of the Culture Fair came. The Fair was set up in the school gym. The
grey walls reflected the ceiling lights to create a gloomy glare that matched
my mood. I lugged my box full of supplies to my booth. I carefully put each
object in its place. Then I dropped my report off at the turn-in box at the
entryway. I got back to my booth and nervously surveyed the area. There were
some booths lined against the walls and others were lined up in two
back-to-back rows. Each poster had its own unique design that seemed to present
itself. My teacher, Ms. Berg, was bustling from booth to booth offering words
of advice and encouragement. Ms. Berg was like an anchor to the students. She
urged us to work hard and do well but she never pushed us off the edge. With
each station she visited, I could feel the nervous air in the room calming.
My parents came early to wish me luck. My mom’s blonde hair
seemed to glow, I was that thrilled to see them. My dad surprised me with
stickers and pencils to give away. Grateful, I gave him a hug. (Hugs are one of
the best signs of love in my family.) My dad squeezed me tight and whispered,
“You’ll be great.” He stepped back, took hold of my mom’s hand and they stepped
back to allow me to finish the last of my challenge alone.
I barely noticed when the first person asked me a question. I
stammered a weak reply. Then another question would be asked and I would offer
more information. With every question or comment all the pent up tension inside
me melted away. Relief and confidence quickly took its place. All the hard work
and research I put into this was paying off.
The whole event lasted about two hours. When it actually
ended, it felt like five minutes to me. When it was finally over, I felt like I
had run a marathon. It was a long and busy night and I was exhausted. Yet,
somehow, I managed to keep grinning like an idiot for an entire hour. And why
shouldn’t I have? I had just finished the biggest academic challenge of the 7th
grade year. And if I was completely honest with myself, it wasn’t nearly half
as bad as I thought it would be.
It was late when my parents and I were heading home. Their
eyes shined as they told me how proud they were. And you know what? For the first time in that entire
month, I was proud of myself too.
Culture Fair was so much more than a writing
experience. It was an experience in fact finding, interviewing, display and
presentation. It gave me valuable
confidence with which I was able to achieve all future writing assignments and
pretty much any other challenge afterwards. I was able to help write a script for my
school’s Destination Imagination team. I discovered that I could write poems
and short stories. I developed the courage to act on a stage. I gained knowledge
that will help me as I start college. None of this would have happened if I had
decided to quit and if my parents didn’t support me. This experience is a key
moment that led me to become the writer that I am today. I wouldn’t trade that
for anything.
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