Dear Mr. Denhart,

I understand that your job is very busy around this time of year, but I hope that you can take the time to read this. It is important that you read this now because at this exact time two years ago, you said some words to me that I will never forget. I bet you didn't realize the effects your words can have on students who are confused, stressed, and unsure about their future. I bet you didn't realize that saying what you said to me could discourage someone to the point of giving up on their dreams. That wasn't the case for me though, because one thing I'm sure you didn't realize is that telling me I wasn't good enough only motivated me to prove you wrong.

You weren't the first person to tell me I couldn't do something. In fact, for as long as I can remember, I've actually loved hearing those two little words. This probably wasn't the greatest trait to have as a young child-my parents can attest to that. My strong willed manner caused countless fights between my parents and I, but as I've gotten older, this trait has developed and grown into something that defines who I am. The following moments may seem minuscule and insignificant to you, but they are part of what shaped me into the person who didn't let your words dishearten me. Mr. Denhart, let me share with you some other things you didn't realize about me.

At age six, I remember excitedly getting ready in the morning for the Spring Show. This was a performance held at my elementary school for all of our parents and teachers to watch. It was a BIG DEAL. My father came into my room and told me, "Bailee, you can't wear pants. All of the other little girls will be wearing dresses." This always sticks out to me because it was a moment that I realized fitting in wasn't important to me. I am my own person and refuse to make decisions based off of other people's opinions. And, if I do say so myself, I stole the show in my cute shirt and pants.

At age ten, my class took timed multiplication tests and the winners got a huge reward: bragging rights. I remember a girl in my class telling me, "You can't finish faster than me, I'm the smartest one in the class." Up until that point, I believed that she was the smartest in the class. But, this encounter made me push myself to reach my full potential and not settle until I got there. About a minute later, I watched her turn in her test after I had already completed mine with ease.

At age fifteen, it came time to try out for the varsity volleyball team. I knew it would be hard since I didn't have any previous experience, but I was up for the challenge. "You're only 5' 3" and you've never played before, you can't make the team," the coach told me. I was upset, but I worked hard to learn the game and practiced religiously for the next year. Instead of giving up, I tried out again for the next season. I made the team this time and had some of the best moments of my life with my high school volleyball team.

Fast forward to age seventeen. This is where you come in, Rich. Can I call you that now that I've graduated? Anyways, this is the encounter you may or may not remember. If you don't, let me quickly remind you. It was the end of my junior year and we had to schedule a required "junior meeting" to discuss our future plans with you. I made sure to do this and show up well-prepared with ideas, goals, thoughts, and questions. I sat outside of your office and waited...and waited...and waited. But, you didn't come out until there were five minutes left of our thirty minute time slot. "Oh my gosh, how long have you been out here?" you asked. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot about you. Let's reschedule for tomorrow." "Yeah, no problem, Mr. Denhart. I'll see you then," I said with a smile.

So, the next day, I came back to the place where I had previously waited nervously. You had enough time for me this day, and I sat down to begin our discussion. I played with the button on my school uniform, something to distract me from the nerves and anxiousness I was feeling. Of course I wasn't 100% confident of my future plans, I was only seventeen; but I definitely had dreams and was excited for you to teach me how to pursue them. Only you didn't teach me. You didn't help me at all. After I explained to you what I wanted to do with my life and some of my choices of colleges, you told me, "Be more realistic. You can't think that big. You're a smart girl, but you're from a small town and there are so many kids out there that have the the same plans. Do you really think you can compete with them?" I left feeling discouraged, frustrated, and to be completely honest, pissed off. Yes, I think I can compete with them. I know I can. I can do whatever I want, I thought.

Our interaction motivated me to work harder and put every ounce of possible effort into my school work and my college applications. But, I won't lie, you did make me doubt myself. I applied to a few smaller, less prestigious schools, telling myself they were just a back up plan. I couldn't shake your words at times, wondering if I was in over my head with my ambitions. But, I knew I would never settle. I would do everything I could not only to prove you wrong, but also to show myself that I was enough.

And I was enough. I got into every school I applied to. I chose my dream school and am thriving. I did better than I could've ever hoped for during my first year at Penn State, and will continue to dream big and aim high. And just think...you could've prevented all of that. That is the reason I'm telling you all of this. I'm not writing this letter to make you feel bad. Truly, I'm not. I'm writing to you in hopes that you'll never make the mistake of telling another student that they can't do something. Because, listen, some kids would take that shit to heart and let it define them for the rest of their lives. Imagine this: the student who had the possibility to find the cure for cancer didn't even pursue college because of your advice. The next Beyoncè didnt apply to music school because you told her to think smaller. The possibilities are endless. Not every person has the same mindset as I did, and you could've crushed all of their hopes and dreams with two words. In your position, you have the power to send ambitious, hard-working, and most importantly, confident students out into the world. I think you should give that a try. And by the way, as much as this letter was to ask you to stop putting kids down, it was also to tell you that "I can."