Stepping out of my mother’s car, I stride swiftly to the splintered wooden doors of the archaic Academy Building. I was fifteen minutes early, by my mother’s request, and could already feel the burning stares of the upperclassmen. “Once you are inside you’ll be fine” I whisper repeatedly under my breath. Grasping the brass knob with a sense of relief but simultaneous trepidation, I open the door to a world of inadequacy and distress.

This was my first meeting for Peer Advocates, a club highly recommended by graduates. The opening conversation included rules and expectations for the upcoming year. The most important aspect was the topic of credits.  The woman in charge clarified, “You will need a total of 7 credits to be recognized at the induction ceremony at the end of the year. Each credit may be attained by a community service act or a special project”. I looked to my left at my close friend Meghan with a bit of competition in my eye, thinking, if she can do it, so can I. 

A few months later, my parents and I rush to the auditorium with one minute to spare. I assemble in the chair marked alphabetically with my name. Peering down the row, I see smiles and familiar faces mouthing, “We made it.” I could not help but feel proud.

I clap for the inductees as they rise and receive awards, along with a starfish pin honoring their service. Marie, the reader and head of the program, reaches the ‘S’ namesand my stomach starts to turn. “Sarris, Sevens, Sulliva-“ Wait a minute. My name was not called. It must be some sort of mistake. Without a sound, I sit impeccably still awaiting a devout apology or at least to hear my name. “That concludes our ceremony tonight. Thank you for all your hard work!”

I had 6.9 credits.
0.1 credits short.

I was a failure. I worked all year with the expectation of recognition as a positive influence in the community, but I did not meet the standards of Peer Advocates.

A few weeks later, I stumbled upon a newspaper article describing a man who had given half of his paycheck every two weeks to a homeless shelter. He had done so for twenty years, and up until now, he did not receive any recognition. The man had no personal ties or connections to the shelter. He helped solely out of the kindness of his heart.

I did not need recognition or a superficial medal awarding me for aiding Habitat for Humanity or helping serve food at the soup kitchen. The benefits people receive from my personal assistance are more than enough for me.
I am not longer bitter; in fact, I am very thankful for Peer Advocates. The programs and services offered to help the community are exceptional. I have acquired the knowledge that giving simply cannot be measured in a number.

Now, as an upperclassman, every time I drive by the Academy Building, I smile and think to myself, in my mind I made it.