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Thursday, November 6, 2003

There's that feeling you get when you look up at the sheet on the board that has the grades posted for some test or exam that you spent hours and hours studying for. As you scan the huge list for the last five digits of your ID number you're thinking to yourself somewhere in the back of your head that no matter how well it says you did on the test, you probably pretend not to be satisfied.

Because you're proud and you try not to show it, excited yet you try to remain stoic. Can I stick this on the refridgerator? Can I get a pat on the back?

Why can't I burst out of the school building doors and run to mom and dad, clutching my graded papers, fluttering through the air? Where's my encouragement and my praise? Where is the pleasant, congratulatory cooing tones of my grandparents? Where is the envy of my peers? Where's my shiny golden star? Where's my Pizzahut Bookit sticker?

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