As a student, my biggest hurdle was always speed.

It took me longer to do things – tests, essays, research, reports – and the added pressure of time constraints only exacerbated my frustration. But when given ample time to do things, I did them thoroughly and with attention to details. This has always been the case with me. “You just can’t rush a Wegener,” my wife and kids say.

So high school was particularly challenging – more independence coupled with more responsibilities. Along with household responsibilities, I was a student, an employee (Shakey’s), a volunteer (concerts), a youth group leader, and I owned a car (’72 Beetle).

I did alright academically, but I really wasn’t there to learn (like so many of my peers seemed to be). What made me want to attend school were the relationships – the friends I worked and played with, the people I admired and wanted to befriend, and the adults (staff) who encouraged and made me feel welcome.

I only cared about the grades I earned because of my mother. She cared about my grades more than I did. If I earned anything less than a “B” I’d catch hell for it. And I did.

In my sophomore and junior years, my mother insisted I take an advanced-placement course to help me prepare for college. It was not a good fit. Each class period seemed like one long lecture on topics that were way over my head and sprinkled with humor or inside jokes I just didn’t get. I struggled to get by. I couldn’t take notes, write essays, or respond to test questions fast enough. And I quickly learned that it didn’t matter what I wrote. It was never smart enough or clever enough to please the teacher. Every day, I looked forward to that class like I looked forward to seeing the dentist.

My mother was very upset, of course, with the first “C” I earned. And she did a nice job of letting the whole world know what a disappointment I was. But when I earned that second “C,” she turned apoplectic. I was too big for her to spank, whip or beat, so I got a daily earful (that has lasted to this day whenever the subject comes up), and my social life came to a grinding halt (at least for a good while).

There were two – no, three – saving graces from that AP class. The first was Kelli Hojnoski, who sat in front of me. She was pretty, sweet and we shared the same sense of humor. The second was Bronson Hilliard, who was kind and helpful. And third was Mr. Gathman, who listened to my story and had me transfer to his class (where I was much more successful).

As a teacher, I’ve tried to keep my own story in mind when accommodating students. Speedy work doesn’t automatically make it “good” work. High quality work can’t be rushed. Not every student cares about grades. If pressed about it, most of them probably don’t. And for those who do care, it may be for external reasons they don’t understand or can’t articulate.

Thank goodness for all the Kellis, Bronsons and Gathmans in the world! I’m hopeful that students who are like me, find and are saved by them.