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0When I was in middle school, my social studies teacher asked me to enter a writing contest. I said no without thinking. I did not love writing. My family came from Brazil, so English was only my second language. Writing was so difficult and painful for me that my teacher had allowed me to present my paper on the sinking of the Titanic by acting out a play, where I played all the parts. No one laughed harder than he did. So, why did he suddenly force me to do something at which I was sure to fail? His reply: “Because I love your stories. If you’re willing to apply yourself, I think you have a good shot at this.” Encouraged by his words, I agreed to give it a try. I chose Paul Revere’s horse as my subject. Paul Revere was a silversmith (银匠) in Boston who rode a horse at night on April 18, 1775 to Lexington to warn people that British soldiers were coming. My story would come straight from the horse’s mouth. Not a brilliant idea, but funny; and unlikely to be anyone else’s choice. What did the horse think, as he sped through the night? Did he get tired? Have doubts? Did he want to quit? I sympathized immediately. I got tired. I had doubts. I wanted to quit. But, like Revere’s horse, I kept going. I worked hard. I checked my spelling. I asked my older sister to correct my grammar. I checked out a half dozen books on Paul Revere from the library. I even read a few of them. When I handed in the essay to my teacher, he read it, laughed out loud, and said, “Great. Now, write it again.” I wrote it again, and again and again. When I finally finished it, the thought of winning had given way to the enjoyment of writing. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t care.
A few weeks later, when I almost forgot the contest, the news came. One day when I was chatting with my mom, I received a call, saying that I won second prize in the writing competition and inviting me to attend the award presentation two days later. I was totally shocked. My mom who overheard my phone hugged me tightly and kissed me, excited tears streaming down her cheeks. She bought me new clothes and took me to do my hair the next day. When I stepped on stage, a pretty young lady awarded the medal to me and shook hands with me. Among the audience, I found my social studies teacher, clapping hands and laughing so loud.I went to the teacher's office after the award presentation. With tears welling up, I said emotionally. “ Sir, thank you so much. It's you who first believe I can write well. Without your encouragement...” I stuttered and broke into tears. He smiled, saying “You should thank yourself. Your hard work and persistence paid off. Keep on writing and you will become a great writer.Though it's hard to learn a second language, I never stopped trying and became a writer at last. A teacher's encouragement made a big difference
