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When I Was Wrong

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By Joshua Glazer '25

 

I yelled at my third-grade English teacher, Mr. Lecsh. I debated with Ms. Turselino, my sixth-grade English teacher. I sat bored in Mr. Ohringer’s tenth-grade English class. I wrote painstakingly in Ms. Delhagens' ninth-grade English class, even while studying abroad. I engaged in heated discussions with Dr. Gray, my English teacher for the fall semester of junior year. 

 

I always had the urge to ask questions, to spark debate, to challenge the teacher and the material. And yes, I was probably wrong in doing so. I probably should have remained quiet and paid attention.

 

But I didn’t. 

 

I needed to vocalize my opinions, even if they were wrong. I needed to be proved right, not just by my teacher, but by my classmates. Sometimes, I was right. Many times, I was wrong. 

 

Hiding my love and passion for the humanities was one of my mistakes. I originally thought that the humanities, or what I called simply “English,” was a bunch of nonsense filled with fake, fictional, stories and endless, pointless writing; therefore, I associated myself more with the “nonfictional” studies of math, science, and—most important—history. As I grew older, I continued to hold this doctrine as my reason for not liking English class, until just a few months ago. 

 

Based on my childhood experiences, you might think that I would detest the humanities, that I would be failing the class, but you would be wrong. 

    

Rather, I have always made high marks in English; and now, the teachers whom I despised years ago are some of my favorite faculty members at school. Now, I am a thriving humanities student. I am a member of several publication staffs at Avenues, I am the author of two articles published by an international news organization, and I helped organize the first Avenues-run humanities conference, where I presented my paper about understanding curiosity through Judaism and Talmudic studies. 

 

As I step back and consider how quickly my perception of the humanities changed, the reason for this change in attitude becomes incredibly clear when I reflect on my purpose and intent as a student. I ask you to consider the following question: what is the purpose of school? Think about it, sleep on it. If you are a teacher or parents, try to remember those years when you were in school. When you were sitting in that four-walled classroom, or staring at the pixels on your computer screen, what did you want to take away from that experience? What did you want to learn? Was it dates, numbers, formulas? Or was it critical thinking skills, collaboration and teamwork, and knowing how to incorporate feedback into your work effectively. I now believe it was more the latter.

 

Certain elements of the humanities may be fictional, but what you learn from those books is far from imaginary. In much the same way, instead of leaving a history class equipped with dates and statistics, I leave with the skills to analyze the information and highlight both the main points and the big takeaways. 

 

Looking back, I realize where I was wrong. I thought I hated something—now I love it and, ironically, have loved it all along. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I found it fun and enjoyable to debate and ask hard questions because it fueled my curiosity, however annoying it may have been for my teachers and my peers. I simply struggled with owning up to my wrongdoing in trying to disguise this love as hatred. 

 

Sometimes in life, it is best to take a step back and reflect. For me, appreciating and understanding my passion and devotion to the humanities, and its purpose in school, was not easy because it is hard to acknowledge that you were wrong. 

 

Ultimately, a true test of one’s abilities is not simply to admit that they were wrong but to understand why they were wrong and how they are going to ensure that they are not wrong in the future. I would say that I am halfway there.