My dad left without me, one wet, chilly one week past September. We would leave together at about 7:00 am, but it passed 6:50 when he zipped out of the door. ‘Great,’ I thought out loud. ‘Now I have to walk to school.’ 

I already had a despairing morning. My chromebook was on the verge of dying, and I had an anatomy test later that morning. My day died before it even started. Nevertheless, I lifted myself onto my bike and rode off to school. I dodged the puddles, and breathed in the musty rain air. I shuddered every time a frozen breeze whistled through me. But when I neared the busy intersection of Midlothian and Hawley, I eased onto my brakes, stopping at the red light.

I encountered a crossing guard with a Vietnam War cap that laid on top of his head. His facial features looked mature, about 65 years old. He resembled a hairless Albus Dumbedore from the Harry Potter series - not the second rude one, of course. He wore this green-and-blue jacket to keep him warm, with Halloween-themed socks and his bulky brown boots. 

I am awkward with anyone, even my own parents, at times. But most of all, I am painfully awkward with strangers. But this guy, with his Vietnam War hat, made all of my inner awkwardness go away. I’d never seen him before, yet with his wise face, I felt like I could trust him.

“Hello, there!” he beamed. I smiled back and waved hi.

After the silent pause left lingering in the air, he spoke again. “Sunny morning we have here, eh?”

“Heh, yeah,” I mumbled. “I love this 90℉ weather. ‘Omg, you’re sooooo funny’ I thought to myself. 

“You want to go to Northwestern?” He pointed at my sweatshirt with its logo dead center.

 “Yeah, but I don’t think I’m going to get in,” I countered The words ‘letdown’, ‘underachiever’, ‘in over your head’ flooded my mind. Although I knew I’m too hard on myself, I didn’t stop chanting these defeatist thoughts.

“Well,” he smacked his lips together, “My granddaughter goes to Harvard. She’s a sophomore! Smartest kid I know.” He gleamed with joy, like talking about a prize possession. “When she was 17, close to your age, she said the same excuse: Grandpop, I’m not smart enough for any of these schools. They don’t want me, I’m not worthy! Well, do you know what I said?” The walking signal turned on, and we walked across the road together.

“What?” I asked, waiting for the suspense of the story to end.

“I told her you’re right. You are absolutely right, you aren’t getting into any of the top schools. Because of that attitude of yours. If you go in thinking you’ll fail, you’ll fail. If you go in thinking you succeed, well, you still might fail, but at least you have a better chance at succeeding than before!”

I chuckled, and although I could’ve gone to the next light 15 seconds before, I didn’t. I gazed at him, and his veteran hat one last time. 

“Thank you so much,” I calmly said. Even though the phrase didn’t seem much, it reminded me of what my mom always told me, “Confidence is a part of working hard.”

“Of course, kid” He responded.

“Oh, and thank you for your service!” I smiled at him. He nodded his head, tipped his Vietnam veteran hat at me, and walked away.

This man reminded me to stop going into situations thinking I'd fail when I hadn't even truly applied myself. To stop walking into complex problems without confidence, and to soon start succeeding without the fear of failure in my mind.