The Courage of Children: Boston and Beyond XXXIII

ESMÉ FIELDS
AMY ROJEK, TEACHER
Community Preparatory School, Providence, RI
Courage in My Life National Essay Contest Winner
Over what was supposed to be an uneventful winter break, I got alopecia
areata, which later progressed to alopecia universalis. In other words, I was
about to go back to school almost completely bald. Over the course of three
months, I lost most of the hair on my head, and about two to three months
later, all the hair on my body.
I could have worn a wig, but they’re itchy, and I was afraid that sooner or later,
it would come off, making the whole ordeal a lot more painful.
The night before returning to school, I was not very anxious, interestingly.
The next day I got up and got ready. I got in the car and drove to school
like a normal day.
As we neared school, I started to think about the possible reactions of my
classmates. I knew they would probably feel sorry for me, but I didn’t think
they should.
“COURAGE IS GETTING
UP EVERY DAY AND
CHOOSING TO DO
IT THE HARD WAY,
BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY
WAY THAT ALLOWS YOU
TO BE YOURSELF.”
Later, a couple people asked in the respectful way you would expect your
teacher to ask you. I answered and went on with my day.
In the days that followed, my class got used to my new look, and school no
longer had the possibility of being a pit of doom. I will always be immensely
grateful to my class for the way they reacted.
Courage is getting up every day and choosing to do it the hard way, because
it’s the only way that allows you to be yourself. Alopecia is an everyday
struggle where courage is exhibited in different ways. That is my way.
We stopped in front of the school, and I got out with no one around me. Or at
least, I didn’t see anyone. I walked into the building and down the stairs. I was
about a hundred feet away from the double doors that opened into the entire
school’s worth of students. My stomach felt like it was pulling itself apart from
the inside. As I moved to right outside the doors, I debated putting my hood on.
But I couldn’t bring myself to hide my head, only to have to reveal it. So I kept
walking into what seemed like a pit of doom.
Except it wasn’t. No reactions. I saw eyes on me, but not in a judgy way. Just
as if I had walked in on a normal day. I took my regular seat in the middle of
the back row. Nothing. No whispers. I didn’t know what was happening. The
principal called for us to stand for the pledge. As we recited the words, my
stomach flip-flopped, then settled, except for a little twist. When we were
dismissed to our homerooms, no one asked. First period, again, I was treated
like always.
THE COURAGE OF CHILDREN: BOSTON AND BEYOND
VOLUME XXXIII
8 9