There is a door
that had always seemed closed to me—the door of literature. Growing up, I loved
reading and writing, but I had a stutter and dreaded being called on to stand
in front of the entire class to read. I would see letters on a page and
struggle to read and pronounce words that I would otherwise know how to say. I
learned to laugh with others when they laughed at me and to make jokes out of
my own mistakes. I struggled in grammar school to write in the proper way. I
knew what I wanted to say, but writing it down and spelling it out was
something I never figured out how to do well under a time limit. Reading and
writing was merely a hobby, one that began to fade when finding a couple of
hours outside of school work and extracurricular activities was next to
impossible. This was a door I knew I would struggle through, even if it was
open. The story of how I found myself where I am today is a story of a series
of closed doors.
The first closed door
was a political one. Like any ambitious student, I had my whole life planned
out. I wanted to be a lawyer and make a difference. I wanted to be successful,
and the ultimate picture of that would be having a top floor office with a view
of San Francisco. The problem, however, was myself; more explicitly, it was my
shallow reasoning for why I wanted to pursue law. I wanted to be a lawyer
because money meant success and success meant that I beat the system. I would
not have to fear a system that worked against so many disadvantaged people. Such
motivations turned making a difference for the better and for others into a
difference for myself, to be unique and superior.
With a pre-law mindset, I found myself involved in
everything that would give me experience with conduct and code. I joined the
Residential Hall Peer Review Board and imagined myself on a panel of
like-minded justice-driven students to challenge stubborn-minded peers. This
was my second closed door. Upon the first week of training, it became clear
that the goal of this board was not to accuse and prosecute, but to restore and
educate. Restorative justice was the goal, and success was measured not by the
admission of guilt and acceptance of punishment, but on whether our peers
understood the purpose of the conduct code and how to return to their community.
The board was ultimately there not to judge but to serve. After my first year,
I was offered the opportunity to apply for the paid coordinator position. It
was then that I had to stop and reflect.
I was taken aback
at how little we cared about the broken rules. I found myself caring more about
broken people. I stood convicted of my selfish ambitions and narrow-mindedness.
It was then that I knew, no matter what I did, it would have to be for reasons
beyond myself and my own success. It was never about being right or wrong, but being
able to work through and struggle together. It was never about proving myself,
but about the humility to learn and be built up.
My lack of a summer
job showed me my third closed door. With nothing else to do, I spent a summer
studying restorative justice. I read all of my supervisor’s books on why
restorative justice was important and how powerful the rhetoric of restorative
justice is in a community. The philosophy behind the rhetoric of restorative
justice is the understanding that words are powerful and must be used constructively
with restoration in mind. Convicted of this, I proposed a project called restorative
circles, to address the worry that the way the board stood now, it was clear
that there was still a side that was right and a side that was potentially in
the wrong. In a restorative circle, there were no sides, but a gathering of people
who all found themselves wrestling with similar situations. Conversation happened
where all sides were expressed, and both empathy and sympathy moved the
dialogue to one of support from within the community itself. The goal was to
restore hurt people side by side. It was community done with others in mind. Such
is the field where philosophers and rhetoricians sow and reap.
The fourth door closed
simultaneously with the opening of the doors to a class called Rhetoric 160: Introduction to the
Rhetoric of Legal Discourse. It was clear from the first day of class that most
of the people who enrolled in the class were pre-law and had the idea that we
were going to learn about laws and how to read and interpret legal documents.
It was expected that every rhetoric class would discuss the use of language and
knowledge as a force to be reckoned with in a positive world. That understanding
was suspended in this class, where I learned that language is powerful not
because of how it is used or abused; it is powerful because language speaks and
calls for its readers to respond. It was in this class that I learned language
not as a means to an end, but a sign to be acknowledged and respected. It was through
this door that I learned for what seemed like the first time how to read words
and not just how to use them. It became clear to me that my aspirations were no
longer for my own success but for an usher for others’ aspiration for success. Any difference that I make in the
smallest or greatest of ways cannot be for my name’s sake. It must be for another’s.
Thus, following all the closed doors, I found myself
before this open one. The first door humbled me and broadened my perspective of
a world beyond myself. The second door convicted me of the need for education
and restoration in a world that judges and leaves broken. The third door taught
me the power of language and how it can create a beautiful environment for
healing and growth. The fourth door challenged me to close the door of my own ambitions
and seek to share what I have learned. So now, I come to the door where I had
never imagined myself to be—the door of literature and words. Today, I stand
here, still with a bit of a stutter and a little bit anxious about reading
aloud. But I stand here more learned, humbled, and prepared for this door to
open before me.
This was my personal statement a while back. Flash forward to the present day, this has led me to the door of my own classroom where I have the privilege of teaching 4th grade.
