Mrs. Dotty Hoots, English chairperson at Wesleyan Christian Academy in High Point, North Carolina, teaches Advanced Placement Literature and Language, College Preparatory English 12, and Journalism I and II. She also sponsors the school newspaper and yearbook and advises the senior class.
Over 30 years have passed since I was away from home for the first time at a large state university as an insecure college freshman—not quite five feet, two inches and 100 pounds. In my small high school, I had been a straight-A student. Now I was faced with a seemingly impossible course: gymnastics. Never athletic, I wanted to get in shape, so I naively signed up for a course for physical education majors. I was an English major. Assuming the instructor would be supportive, I thought that if I worked hard, I couldn’t fail. After all, I was successful in my other classes. I studied hard and never missed a class. Besides, I was on an academic scholarship that required me to maintain a B average. Of course I planned on having the A average I had always maintained.
The class was intimidating and demanding. Looking back, I’m surprised I did not drop the course, but I never considered it. I assumed I could conquer this class as I had other difficult ones. I was wrong. The other girls in this junior-level course were strong and athletic, most nearly finished completing their physical education majors. Many played on the university’s athletic teams. I had never been on an athletic team. Week after week, I struggled. I ran and ran, my weight dropping to 90 pounds. But try as I might, I could not jump the hurdles. My body did not seem designed for jumping. I was defeated. If only the instructor would give a written test, I could ace that. But the course was all physical, and I fell miserably short. An F in the course would destroy my grade point average. I dreaded going to class, fearing ridicule or pity. Except for the grace of God, I was doomed to fail.
I went to one of the instructors. Pleading my case, I asked if the gym were open in the evenings. I would put in extra training. A graduate student, he curtly replied, “No.” Knowing I was an English major, he seemed to enjoy my predicament, saying he disliked English and had, in fact, failed an English class. He offered no encouragement or help. Deeply discouraged, I sought out the other instructor, an older man, who appeared kind and fatherly. He offered the grace I so desperately needed. He watched my performance closely. He did not compare me with the other girls, who were easily leaping over the hurdles. He studied my chart, noting that I had increased in strength, speed, and skills. He encouraged me. I began to enjoy the class. Competing only with myself, I improved. I would never be an Olympic star, but I was more physically fit. Wasn’t that why I had taken the course? By the end of the term, I had become more confident physically. Today I work out regularly at my local YMCA. I received a B in the course. I didn’t deserve it. I was never able to perform the skills required, but through the grace of that wonderful man, I came to enjoy physical activity, and my grade point average stayed intact. I graduated with honors because of grace.
I have taught English for 34 years, and I have never forgotten the kindness shown to a frightened 18-year-old. As I look into the faces of my students, I realize that writing and reading are easy for me—but perhaps not for them. My class may be the one that seems impossible. Because I was given grace, I want to pass it on to them.
Grading with Grace 6.3