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Kayla Cook

Mr. Sellek

AP English III

17 January 2017

Nora Never Smiles

Success and failure are two abstract concepts prematurely branded into the minds of

individuals. Success, for me, had always meant achieving my predetermined goals. As a child, I

was rewarded for accomplishing a goal, and was chastised when I fell short of one. From

completing puzzles to memorizing Bible verses, I was taught that correctness was equivalent to

success, and that the inability to achieve these tasks was equivalent to failure. As I transitioned

into elementary and middle school, I carried this principle with me. I held myself to the standards

of As in the classroom, and goals on the soccer field, and whenever I fell short of these

measures, I felt defeateda failure. Failure was the most repulsive thing I had ever encountered,

so I worked as diligently as I could in my studying and my athletics to escape its condemning

clutches. I had been able to maintain the exhaustive criterion I had invented for myself for the

majority of my elementary and middle school years. Unbeknownst to me, however, a seven year

old girl would interrupt my continuous pattern.

Friday was the day that I would be assigned to my kindergarten peer mentee, which we

called buddy. The rest of the school year we would spend each Friday with our buddy, doing

various activities and becoming friends with him or her. The purpose was to give every

kindergartener an older role model in the school, so that they would be able to adjust to school

more effectively. Thinking back to my kindergarten memories, I could remember my buddy

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vividly. Danielle was her name; She was the nicest and, in my kindergarten opinion, coolest of

all the buddies. As it grew close to my time to become a buddy as well, I told myself that I would

reach the status that Danielle had attained for me as a kindergartener.

On Friday, when everyone was assigned to their buddies, my name was left out. Kayla,

my teacher beckoned me over to a corner where she and the kindergarten teacher stood

discussing something quietly. When I approached them, the kindergarten teacher smiled and said

quietly, Kayla, theres something you need to know about your buddy. Shes a more

challenging student to work with, but we thought youd work well with her. Is that alright? Of

course, I accepted. I walked over to the desk they had directed me to, and there sat the saddest

girl I had ever seen. Nora? I inquired. Her big blue eyes studied me quickly, then dismissed

me. I introduced myself and asked her what she wanted to do. No response. I tried to learn a little

about her by asking her questions. No response. It took less than an hour for me to realize that

seven year old Nora was completely disinterested in me and anything that I had to say. The most

disheartening part of my time with her was that Nora never smiled.

After the first couple of weeks, I reminded myself of my original goal: to be the best

buddy I could be. By the end of this semester, I was going to make Nora smile. Every day I came

to visit her, I was ready. I experimented different activities: reading, playing with chalk,

coloring, puzzles, anything. I tried it all. Nora was as tenacious in not smiling as I was in

attempting to get her to. Yet, I still got to know her, not through talking or laughing, like the

other kids, but through quietly playing connect four, or making a picture. One word answers

from her gradually grew into two to four word responses, and to me, that was revolutionary. It

became more enjoyable going to visit her every Friday; it was exciting trying to piece together
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Nora. She was a puzzle, one that I was determined to solve. But time was running out. It was two

months until our time with the buddies was over, and I had still been unable to make Nora smile.

One day as I was walking back to class from a piano lesson, I saw a small girl laugh and

run into her father's arms by the playground. I stood and watched for a moment, and the little

girls big blue eyes met mine while she was embraced by her father. Her smile immediately

vanished and I stood amazed that her face could actually form a smile. Her father put her down

and looked at me. You are you Noras buddy, Kayla? I was shocked. When I told him yes,

he explained to me that Nora talked about me every day when she came home from school, and

that she really wanted her family to meet me. My heart was filled, and I looked at the blank faced

girl with a sense of utter joy.

The rest of the year passed, and I had never seen Nora smile again. She and I did not say

much to each other when it was time to say goodbye to the buddies. It appeared to be a rather

anticlimactic experience. To my younger standards, I had fallen short of my goal to get Nora to

smile; I had failed. But I didnt feel the sickening feeling of defeat that accompanied my other

failures. Instead, I remembered the moment with Nora and her father at the playground. If Nora

talked positively to her parents about me, hadnt I done something right? I came to a beautiful

conclusion: success isnt measured by the ability to achieve a goal. Success is made up of the all

the time and effort spent pursuing that goal, and how that time and effort has built up ones

character.

No, Nora never smiled. But I dont think I failed. I learned to be persistent, to

continuously search for ways find a solution. More importantly, I learned that failure can develop

character far greater than achievement, and to me, that is the greatest success of all.