The Term Paper I Thought I Aced
Junior year, spring semester. Theo IV. Ecclesiology.
I sat in the third row on the right side. Theater seating made the third row feel like the first row, so I could feel like a nerd without actually looking like one. And it also made it less likely for the professor to talk to me directly before, after or during class.
Except for today, when suddenly Dr. Cragoe knelt in front of me, with my paper in his hands, and look on his face that I couldn’t quite read. I never could. He was one of those stoic profs who was kind when you needed him to be, but if you were in trouble, his eyes could pierce through your soul. (Everyone on campus agreed on this.)
I was proud of the paper I’d just written, the one in his hands. It was about a subject I’d never before studied, and I was becoming more and more fascinated by it. While I was home for spring break, I even found a book by my great uncle for a primary source. I hadn’t been that interested in a term paper topic in a really long time, and I thought I’d nailed it.
I was proud of the work I’d done, and I thought for sure he had come to tell me as much.
Chasing the 4.0
I had always been good at school. Except for math — I passed, but let’s just say math is not my strong suit. On the whole, academics came naturally to me. I never had to work very hard to get good grades. I still studied, researched, wrote, made flashcards and stressed over big exams. But for the most part, I didn’t worry too much; I knew I’d pass, and I wouldn’t have to work very hard.
I also knew that once you get the degree, after you walk across the stage nobody cares about your grades. You passed the classes and you earned the degree fair and square. Future employers may notice honor rolls or dean’s list mentions, but usually the fact that you earned the degree is enough.
So for the first two years of my college career, I didn’t worry about grades. I had a few tough classes, but I didn’t work particularly hard. I knew I’d pass with Bs and low As, and I was okay with that.
Until one day, at the beginning of my junior year, the university’s vice president stood up in chapel and announced there would be special recognition for 4.0 GPA earners every semester. He held up a coffee mug, of all things — perhaps a nod to both the means and the reward. The mug brandished a large 4.0 on its side along with the university name. He said students who earn a 4.0 semester GPA could pick up their mugs in the academic office at the end of the semester.
Something happened in my brain in that moment. A resolution. I was getting one — at least one — of those mugs before I graduated. I had three semesters left. I could do it, but it meant there’d be no more phoning in assignments or just writing my way out of papers that said nothing original or important.
It was a watershed moment. Time to go to work.
The Term Paper(s)
So naturally, when Dr. Cragoe knelt in front of me with my paper in his hand, I expected a congratulations and maybe even an ‘atta girl. He looked at me seriously, but kindly. He was not a professor who would openly criticize or shame a student. He was not loud, boisterous or out to prove a point. He was kind, quiet, dignified and wise.
Kneeling and on eye level, he looked me square on, kindly, but still unreadable. He put the paper down in front of me, and gently said,
“This was a good paper. But I’m giving you a B, because I know you can do better.”
I was crushed. All the research and late nights writing and rewriting for a B?
But in that moment I knew he was right. I could do better.
I didn’t give the paper 1000%. It was good, but it wasn’t great. I had worked on it, but I hadn’t worked as hard as I could to make it a great paper.
Still kneeling in front of me, he said,
“Now, if you’re happy with this paper” — and I had been up until that very moment — “then you can take the B and walk. It won’t hurt your grade at all. But …”
Ah, there it is. But always means more work.
“ … I know you have more in you than this. I’m raising the bar on your papers from here on out. So I’d like you to write another paper for me, and this time, I want you to tell me where you land on the subject.”
I sat there and weighed my options. A solid B isn’t bad. I am proud of this paper — or at least I was until about thirty seconds ago. And then he said,
“But I know you. And I know you’ll do it, because I know how you’re wired; I’m wired the same way.”
It was a statement of confidence. Of anticipation. Potential. Incentive. Inspiration. Excellence.
I didn’t think any more about it. I went back to my dorm and wrote the paper.
And before I left for the semester, I stopped by the academic office to pick up my first 4.0 mug.
