How Being the Valedictorian Put My Brain in a Box

Taking a quick detour from regular programming for yet another Chay story..

In fourth grade, my favorite teacher in the whole world betrayed me.

Ms. Coyne was sunny and sweet. And one day, she became clearly fed up with us all; my class had the reputation of having notoriously awful behavior every year (now that I think back on it my classmates were just really talkative.. well and also that we kind of hated each other for most of our elementary years but that’s beside the point) and I'm guessing that she also saw that we were mindlessly turning in assignments.

She announced vindictively and suddenly after recess that we were having a pop quiz; the sweet, caring and creative teacher I loved had become eclipsed by an evil stepmother. While the class groaned, I felt the familiar rush of high-octane waves in my stomach (butterflies never made sense to me), aware that we had not been studying anything in particular. She had not even given a clue as to what subject--she must have been really at her wit's end. She told us we had only a minute to finish the quiz and to start as soon as we got it.

This is (sort of) the quiz that landed on my desk. But it was way more academic. Like underlining words and spelling things not drawing pictures. But so you get the idea:

As I was already about 2/3 of the way down, I was starting to slow down and question what was really happening.. but school was my sport, and by 9 years old I had become a quiz machine; I had completed half the quiz within 15 seconds. But.. at the end, the quiz on my desk said "If you completed any of the other numbers, you have failed this quiz."

By the time I had read it, it was too late. We had just started using erasable pens in 4th grade (the highlight of back to school shopping for us) and they were a messy blue lie. She announced time had run out and my stomach fell off a cliff straight into an abyss. I never failed anything. I was not a person who failed quizzes. Worse still, instead of being empathetic, she was triumphant as though she had made us all look like fools on purpose! My worst nightmare. I was left to spiral. Pretty sure I cried. I'm not sure if I ever quite forgave her for that.

Fast forward to my small Catholic high school: the perfect place for me. I had the most amazing friends, I had teachers who cared about me so much that they came to the hospital to see me (stay tuned for that story, it is also neurological), and I aced all my classes. I had a 4.33, which .. back in My day.. was the highest GPA you could have without dying from dysentery. I was a jack-of-all-trades. I played tennis. I sang in 3 different choirs. Sometimes 4. I was a ministry leader, I was VP in the National Honors Society, I was a teacher's assistant. I was involved in everything I could manage. I raised my hand, I never cut class. I still followed every direction without reading to the end. It worked for me. And I became the valedictorian.

I got into UC Berkeley, my dream school, my sole aspiration in life. Not to get a certain degree, not to advance a career, not to even experience Berkeley in particular, but to be the best. I was used to being "the best" and Berkeley was the best of the best. And that was enough for me.

Someone told us along the way to be aware that our grades would drop, that we would receive criticism, that we would need to encounter imperfection. And I, being “the best”, thought to myself - yeah, but I won’t. At least not that much.

My first semester I got an 2.3 GPA. I was isolated and didn’t want to socialize or make friends. My mom told me to study more so I did and I only got more confused and continued to fail quizzes and tests. I felt my identity shatter. It took me a long time (and a neurological disorder) to pick up the pieces and start again.

For all of the glitz of school awards and perfect form, rewarding kids for being “good” and “smart” and obedient, I believe the title of valedictorian is a farce ..and I believe it can be changed. It’s a hard thing for me to say because I’ve spent a very long time in my formative years thinking it defined who I am. But I also recognized slowly over many, many years that my classmates were smart too— and that their gifts were being trampled in order to raise ones such as mine.

It’s a hard thing to let go of when you’re used to the privilege. The praise and the kindnesses are addictive. When people tell you over and over again that you’re a “smart girl” and a “good girl” and doing what you’re told makes people give you things and smile at you and shower you with what looks like love. Being the valedictorian made me doubt my accomplishments when no one was cheering me on. It reinforced my belief that I had an inherent gift from God to be amazing at life itself. And when I failed, I was convinced time and time again, that I was not living up to who I was meant to be.

Instead of being rewarded for perfect answers, instead of being raised over my classmates, I believe I would have been poised for a more satisfying and meaningful, successful life if being the valedictorian meant that you were willing to make mistakes, you tackled issues with a critical and creative mind, you problem-solved when challenged, you collaborated when stuck, you persevered when you felt defeated, and you lifted others up when discouraged. I suppose I don’t know how to measure these things accurately or fairly. But if there was a way, and this were the way kids were “judged” in school, I am positive we would have more innovations in all fields - technology/medicine/education/business/trades and a more harmonious society.

As messed up as her delivery was, my fourth grade teacher had been on to something. We had been taught to regurgitate information. We had been taught to blindly throw formulas and algorithms at problems we didn’t understand. If she had more emotional regulation, she may have really taught us a lesson. We were in a machine that grinds through us as children, teaches us to conform and to sit down and be quiet. But her instinct told her that we needed a wake up call.

I realize I live in America and we, as a culture, are beyond obsessed with winning and beating the competition, being “the best” in the world.

But if we could use that momentum of motivation to be the best and combine it with the reframing of success as persistence.. maybe we would really all live in a better place than we do now.