Until then, I had no idea what it felt like to get a 38. Out of 100. Lets just say that my confidence was shaken. Until then, I never paid attention when others students buzzed about the curve. If nothing else, Ec 10 taught me to love the curve.

But there were more lessons in store for me that fateful Friday. Before meeting my parents, I stopped by the Expository Writing office to pick up

my first essay. (As a side note to first-years who are reading this article: If you happen to find yourself in this position, do not make this trip until Monday.) When I picked up the sealed manila envelope, I opened it and looked for the grade. It didn't seem obvious, and so I started reading the comments. At the midpoint of the scathing review of my work, I read the words that are ever burned into my memory. My preceptor wrote that he was utterly dismayed by

the lack of analysis throughout the entire essay. At this point, I had read enough constructive criticism for one day. Suddenly I understood that the mysterious letter at the bottom of page really was a C.

At this point Harvard had truly begun its campaign to destroy my

self-confidence. But for once, timing was on my side. My parents were

here. I would love to say that I stood strong against this adversity, that I needed no one. The truth is, I went straight to my parents hotel room and assumed the fetal position on their bed. The rebuilding process could only then begin.