The Short End of the Stick, Essay Example

When I was in ninth grade, I learned the importance of being strong and standing up for what is right at the expense of my favorite teacher, Mr. Rodriguez.  Mr. Rodriguez was a good guy:  he was funny, fair, and listened to great music.  He was also short – about five feet tall.  He was shorter than everyone in the class, including the girls.  His height did not bother me, and was not an issue until D Day.

D Day was Decision Day, the day I made the wrong decision.  It began just as any normal spring day.  I came into class, fooled around with my pals, flirted with the hot girl who sat in front of me, and when the bell finally rang, assumed my seat, which was three chairs across and two down from the front.  I loved that vantage point:  I could see the board when I needed to see it, hide behind the hot chick when I was sleepy, and was just close enough to the door that when the bell rang I could get out of dodge within ninety seconds.  On Decision Day, I also learned that my seat gave Mr. Rodriguez an excellent vantage point to my note passing.

We were reading Othello and Mr. Rodriguez gave us a pop quiz.  I was terrified because I had not read the material for the day, so when a square piece of notebook paper made its way across my shoulder and landed with a soft “plop” on my desk, I was relieved until I opened it.

“Mr. Rodriguez is the smallest man on earth.  He is so small his head can’t reach my toes.  I bet his brain is the size of a pea.  Now you keep it going!”

My heart clenched in my chest.  I looked over my shoulder and saw my pal Freddy smirking at me.  I saw my face reflected in his eyes.  I saw what I was – a coward – and to this day I feel the burn of shame in the pit of my stomach.  For when I turned around to look at that little square piece of paper, I watched my hand write the continuation of that story as if it had a life of its own.  My hand wrote “Mr. Rodriguez is so small, I bet he couldn’t satisfy his wife if I tried for him!” and I passed it to the girl in front of me.  She laughed and continued the story, then passed it over to the right.  The note made its way all over the room… and into Mr. Rodriguez’s hands!  He intercepted the note as it was on the way to the garbage can.  I watched in horror as he read it.  The usual sparkle and warmth in his eyes died and what grew in their place was not anger or apathy, but sadness and hurt.  He looked around the class, but did not say a word about the note.  He just told us to pass our papers to the front and went on to teach the next lesson on Othello as if nothing had happened.  But I knew what happened.  I made the wrong decision.

After an eternity, the bell signaling the end of our class rang and I dashed to the door, but Mr. Rodriguez instructed me to stay.  So I sat and waited as a condemned criminal awaits sentencing.  Mr. Rodriguez sat down next to me and told me that he specifically wanted to talk with me about the note.  He saw Freddy pass it to me, saw my horrified reaction to the content, and saw me wrestle with the decision to take a stand… and lose the match.  Mr. Rodriguez told me he understood my internal conflict, and wanted to ensure that the next time I was faced with such a decision that I remembered This Moment.  This Moment was the pain in his eyes, the disappointment in his bearing, the uncomfortable conversation, the unfairness of being the only person held accountable.  He gave me the short end of the stick, and I never forgot its sharp sting.

Now I have no problem telling people “no” or stopping pranks before they get off the ground.   I wish I had not learned to be so resolute at the expense of Mr. Rodriguez, but I am determined to use my D Day experience to ensure no one else is made to feel so small as did Mr. Rodriguez.