When I lived in Bangladesh, we didn’t have a lot of money, but my parents always made sure we were able to go to school. I always tried my best to do well in all my classes. Unfortunately, reading and writing was never something I was good at. I went to school in Bangladesh until second grade. I remember always failing or passing by a few points in my language classes. I was always terrified of showing my mother my test papers for those classes. I always tried to get high grades in my math and science classes so that she would not ask about my other classes. Most of the time I tried to keep the language papers hidden.  

          One day before going to school she told me to show her my test papers after I got home. Apparently, she had heard from another parent that the teachers were giving out the test papers for all the classes that day. I was so anxious the entire day hoping that I got at least a passing grade. For my language class I got the highest grade I had gotten that year. Despite this I had still failed my language test by 3 points. I was disappointed to have to show this to my mother, so I threw out the paper on my way out. When I got home, I saw that my mother was waiting for me and my sisters at the door. I showed her all my papers and she was very proud of me. My sister did well too but like me had failed her language test. Then mother started questioning about where our language tests were. We said that we didn’t get them yet. We thought we had fooled her, but she was smarter. Next, she told us to empty out our bag to prove we didn’t get ours. I quickly emptied out mine knowing she would find anything, but I could see the hesitation in my sister’s eyes. Mother was furious that my sister failed but even more because she tried to hide this from her. I had never seen my mother so mad and so I decided to never lie to her about test again even if I got bad grades. In return I had to try even harder on my language classes to make sure I don’t fail. Thankfully the year after we had moved to America. 

          When I first came to America, I went into the fourth grade. The language classes seemed so much easier because we had more freedom with what we had to write and read. The language classes were still my worst subject but at least I passed the classes. Back in Bangladesh the answers were almost always based on a reading so there was only one right answer but here there was no right or wrong answer. In the beginning, I struggled with answering any question because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to fail my English classes, so I observed. I saw how the other students answered the questions and how sometimes the answers didn’t make sense but as long as you could prove how your answer was right it was acceptable. I learned there is always another answer, and your answers can always be improved if you can prove why that one is better.