Hello again,
You probably barely remember me if you remember me at all but I was in your class seven years ago. It's strange how memory works -- one person can make a comment so flippantly without giving it so much as a second thought and the other remembers it for the rest of their life.
It was the beginning of the school year and we were a class full of freshmen, eager-eyed and a little terrified of being in high school for the first time. We were introducing ourselves, row by row, saying our names, what middle school we went to and what we wanted to be when we grew up. A chemist, a doctor, a lawyer. Then it came to me. I rattled off my answers that hadn't changed since I was eight and you rolled your eyes.
"Maybe you should change your answer because you won't be able to make it in that field."
I've been told that I can't do something many times before. I can't put my hand on a hot stove, I can't drink underage and so on. The difference between then and this moment is that those times had proper reasons for why I couldn't and shouldn't do something. They had real, hurtful consequences and the people who told me no were looking out for my wellbeing. Your comment to a 13-year-old had no good intentions or real concern for me -- it was simply a rude remark from someone I was supposed to trust and look up to.
Although I didn't take much away from your class other than a belittled dream and some random facts about World History, I did learn one of the most important lessons of my life -- your superiors aren't always right and aren't always decent people. I learned that just because someone is in charge of you, does not mean that they automatically know better than you or have your best interests in mind when dealing with you. I learned that many times, the people who you are supposed to trust on sight will ultimately fail you. Most importantly, I learned that if someone tells you that you will fail, it's incredibly satisfying to prove them wrong and succeed beyond expectations.
Seven years ago, you told me that I would never do well in the field that I wanted. You scoffed every time I would mention it to my friends or in class and you never let me forget that you thought I wasn't good enough to succeed. Today, I am graduating a semester early with my degree and already have a foothold in the professional field you told me I wasn't adequate for.
Ultimately, I want to say thank you. Thank you for not believing in a 13-year-old, doe-eyed girl who you knew nothing about so she could prove you wrong and succeed beyond what she knew was possible.
