I Couldn’t Learn History—So I Chose to Edit It
I failed social studies multiple times while in grade school. No matter how hard I tried or the study advice I took, I simply could not pass a single social studies test that had anything to do with Early American History. I enjoyed language arts but could not join the advanced class due to my poor social studies grades. Instead of writing essays about The Diary of Anne Frank or Animal Farm, I was stuck in a class taking ten-word spelling tests that many of my classmates often had to retake.
One of the few dozen children of color in the entire school. An Asian American amongst a sea of mostly white peers. Enjoyed English class. Held back by an inability to pass U.S. history tests.
At some point, I just stopped caring about my social studies classes.
I stopped caring about my grades.
About fitting in.
It was not until my adult life where I realized that history does matter to me—just not in the way that would have improved my grades. I am an avid consumer of personal stories, especially memoirs written by survivors of the Killing Fields (the Cambodian Genocide caused by Khmer Rouge). They remind me of the childhood stories my mother used to tell me of our own family’s survival and losses. The grade school version of myself did not need more flash cards about the American Revolution or to copy more lists of facts about the Boston Tea Party. Grade-school me needed stories about individuals and their lives during those turbulent time periods.
Would those changes to social studies have changed my entire life's trajectory? Would being among a different group of peers launch me into a stratosphere of passion for both history and English language and literature? Truthfully, I doubt it; I was not a success-driven student. I was, and still am, far from exceptional. I spent most of my free time playing RuneScape, and you could have called me an amateur in that at best. What I do know is that my frustrations with social studies adversely shaped my experience as a child of immigrant parents and the feelings I had about being in grade school.
However… I don’t look back at my time in grade school with animosity anymore. Reflecting on this chapter of my life now makes me appreciate the privileges I had back then and still have now. It also makes me hungrier for success as a book coach, editor, and even writer.
Pursuing my passion to become a successful editor is deeply intertwined with my identity. When I read and edit stories, be it personal statements, memoirs, or even cover letters, I light up in a way that the grade school version of myself never knew they could. Personal stories and memoirs—these are the snippets of history that speak to me. To edit the deeply personal work of a writer, and to have my fingerprint on how someone has written and shared their lived experiences, is an incredible honor. Editing nonfiction brings me closer to my culture, not always because of the subject matter itself, but because it deepens my relationship with the English language as a first generation Cambodian American. I like to think that I am making up for the grade-school me.
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