I hand down the letter, he reads it silently as he drums his fingers against the wooden table.

He shakes his head, "it's not there yet" he says.

I frown, then he pats me on the shoulder and leaves.

I guess, I'll never be good enough.
I think again and again.

I get up and move to the chair on the other side of the room.
I look out the window, as I sit in my chair with thoughts booming around in my head.
I want to cry and tell myself that I'm worthless, but instead I sit here disappointed that my hard work didn't pay off. Nothing, but a bunch of papers with worthless words.

Could he not see that I tried? That every letter of every sentence was perfectly shaped and said?

I jump from the chair and run down the stairs.

I see him sitting there by the fire place reading his newspaper.

"I want you to tell me what I did wrong. What possibly could've been wrong?"

"That right there child is what's wrong with what you wrote or maybe I should say it was right, because it wasn't forced like those letters. You didn't mean what you said you only wrote what you said, for a grade, for acceptance. That's not what those letters were supposed to be about. See you can't even defend what you wrote. Forced writings, no good for no one! Tell me something child that means something to you, not something you just say to make other people happy! Tell me something that makes you: you."

I stand still.

"You wanna know what means something to me those letters? Because that's what I felt, so it meant something to me. Finally not feeling out of place."

He shakes his head again.

"Who cares if you are out of place?
That is the place you were meant to be, so who says that your out of place?
You need no ones acceptance, but your own. When you accept you that's when you find your place."

I smile.

"Then I accept myself and I believe those letters are just right."

He smiles and starts to read his newspapers again.

"Very well then" he says and again shakes his head.