Too all those who are doubted … Allow me to introduce myself

Throughout my pre-college life no one believed in my intellectual abilities. That is not an overstatement. Born just over two months premature — with a twin who tragically didn’t make it — I was always slow to develop: Late to talk, last kid in class to read. Frankly, my parents just hoped I would pass. Throughout elementary and middle school I gave my full effort, but still struggled. Yet I always did "fine" so it was never a problem. Where did that land me? My eighth grade teachers thought I was incapable of academic rigor and recommended I take the lowest track classes in high school. I entered Glenbrook North with low expectations.

Initially, I thought nothing of being in G-level (remedial), and though I aced each class, I felt stuck. Then, on a visit with my older sister to the University of Michigan, I had an epiphany. Smart, dedicated students breezed by; I wanted to become one of them. I knew I was equally capable of achievement, but I had to transform. Each night, I had watched my sister, who eventually attended and graduated from Michigan to then work at The White House and now the New York Times, complete hours of homework, while I was done in ten minutes flat. No one seemed to question this, yet I knew I must defy expectations. I needed a change. So I pleaded my case to the person who could institute the change. I wrote at the time:

“Dear Ms. Levine-Wissing, I am writing this letter because I know I belong in a regular level math class. Though my parents and teachers feel that G-level is the best I can do, I know I have more potential. My math teacher, Mr. Krickl, tells me that moving up is extremely challenging. My parents oppose the move because they fear that my G.P.A. will suffer. My counselor, Mr. O’Rourke, has said “no” as well. Still, I believe I must do this for myself. Please allow me to make a level change for sophomore year, I will not disappoint you” (2009).

Miraculously, Levine-Wissing approved the move. When I informed my parents, they were dumbfounded, and honestly, concerned. Still, I forged ahead. And here I am now, just under a month away from graduating from the University of Michigan. What I didn’t know then was that my plea to Levine-Wissing was the first piece of my writing career. Sure, I wrote dozens and dozens of stories and research papers throughout high school. But that one letter helped institute change. After that moment, other than a brief period, I haven’t stopped writing. It’s given me a voice. Every time I write, I feel I’ve grown, even if it’s in the slightest way possible. Every time I try a different style of writing, it’s added to my repertoire of ammunition, as I like to call it. Why do I like to call it that? To clarify, I hold deep grudges against all of my teachers growing up who doubted my potential. Of course there were a select few who I grew close to, and enjoyed, but they were a very small minority. I started to write because I enjoyed proving to them that I could be talented in an intellectual capacity. And while my writing has evolved, I feel like I am making my case to them stronger and stronger. As I wrote in a letter to my sixth grade English teacher, Mrs. Whitlow:

“Let me tell you something, every ounce of energy I put into any assignment I get, is the same amount of energy I exerted while trying to write reflection paragraphs on “The Westin Game.” Part of why I write today, Mrs. Whitlow, is for all the kids you may have instilled doubt into. And even if I was the only one, that’s fine by me. So thank you, once again, for not believing in me. I wouldn't be half the writer I was if it weren’t for you”  (Jason Rubinstein, 2014, Writing 220).

The Start

 When I moved into my freshman year dorm, I got complacent. My only goal up until that point was to get into Michigan. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Right before I got to Michigan, my eight-year old dog, Andre, died. I was obviously sad and thought becoming a vet would be a cool profession. So I enrolled in a pre-med track.

I lasted one lecture.

My parents weren’t thrilled with that decision, but it was my choice to make. I just needed to find something else. In my freshman year English class, English 125, I re-kindled my love for persuasive writing. I always thought if I could convince Levine-Wissing to make a change, I could persuade others of anything I was particularly knowledgeable about. The final prompt in that class was to write argumentative blog on a real-world issue. I wrote a post on why college athletes should not be paid. I’ll admit it wasn’t the best writing. I was young. It pains me to show this, but here are a couple of sentences:  

“The issue of whether or not to pay college athletes is perhaps relatable to other contemporary issues. For example, some might argue that paying collegiate athletes for their services is no different than stopping illegal music downloads and having to pay musicians for the work they do” (Jason Rubinstein, 2012, English 125). 

Yeah. I have no idea what I was trying to say. Lets move onward. But I felt something after it was published onto the meager class blog. I felt like my voice was heard again. So I became a sports writer.

“This is Jason from The Michigan Daily”

I walked into The Michigan Daily because I thought the idea of getting paid to watch sports sounded ideal. Anyways, I had bleak expectations, but couldn’t have been more wrong. From my first story, I felt a special feeling every time I saw my name atop an article. It’s a sense of pride. There were times I’d be in the library and someone would be reading my article. I always wondered what they would do if I told them I wrote it. To the point, the Daily challenged me in ways I never knew possible. I thought I was a decent writer who could fit right in. But when you compared my game stories to the older, more experienced writers, mine were pathetic. I knew there was room for growth, considerable growth, but I was nowhere near the same level as my colleagues.

Writing a sports story is stressful and it’s not because your name appears on top of it in the public. Here is how it goes: you show up to the event and as the game unfolds you write. Once the buzzer rings or the last match finishes, your story is due. Not a minute late. Even if the games ends with a last-minute goal, it’s still due. In the professional world, if your story is late, you’re fired. The logic: what good are you if other news outlets have you beat? It’s an eat-or-be-eaten profession. But I love adrenaline.

On top of those stressful game stories, I’ve written a few long-form features. Contrary to popular belief, the athletes I covered are fascinating people just like us. I’ve written a feature on then-Michigan football commit, Lawrence Marshall. Lawrence was a senior in high school and in the two months leading up to his senior season, both his grandfather and father passed away. After a few conversations, he was nice enough to open up about these tragic events. In fact, when we spoke in person at his high school, he broke down in tears. I was dumbfounded and when I eventually wrote the story, he sent me a text message thanking me. It was touching and shows what an impact my writing and reporting could have.

I’ve written columns arguing that the National Hockey League is immoral with its handling of the college hockey players. And one time, I wrote a column urging the women’s tennis team to take another step forward. Needless to say, they didn't like that, and I fielded calls from the coach about how “horrible” the article was. If you want to see how impactful reporting can be, just write a negative story on a Michigan sport’s team. I promise you won’t hear the end of it. But that’s the best part. People care. And for once, people wanted to read what I wrote. For example, just my latest column for the Daily argued that a freshman on the hockey team, Kyle Connor, should win the Hobey Baker Award, which is given to the game’s best player. Just three freshmen have accomplished the same feat; so making that argument could seem petty. I wrote:

By all means, it must be frustrating for the committee to hand the award to a freshman, let alone having to do it two years in a row. Before Eichel won last season, Paul Kariya was the lone freshman to accomplish the feat after he had 100 points playing for Maine in 1992-93.

Connor’s stats mirror Eichel’s. Connor’s impact on his team is similar to that of Eichel’s. And he dazzles everyone who watches him play, just like Eichel.

“He’s one of those players,” said senior forward Boo Nieves, “when he gets the puck, you hold your breath.”

And when it comes time to announce the 2016 Hobey Baker Award Winner, Michigan fans shouldn’t have to hold their breath.

Because Kyle Connor is far and away the most deserving player to win the award” (Jason Rubinstein, 2016, The Michigan Daily).

The feedback I received from the Michigan faithful was incredible. The column went “viral” within in the sporting world and many top columnists shared my story. I bet there a few people who didn’t share it though: the majority of my childhood teachers. Because that couldn’t possibly be the same Jason Rubinstein.

225 and 325: Becoming Great

A lot of people can pinpoint a spot where “they learned how to write.” For my sister that was in her senior year high school English class — I don’t know how that is possible — and one of my roommates will say he learned how to write from his Political Science professor during his freshman year. While the Daily may have been that for me, two classes at Michigan helped me grow more than I can imagine. First, English 225, Academic Argumentation, taught me how to argue. Professor Gibson showed me how words can be strategically used to sway opinion.  She stressed and stressed the importance of sentences and how much meaning one sentence could carry. And through trial and error, I grew in ways I didn’t even realize. Take a thesis statement I wrote pertaining to paying college athletes (yes, I wrote about that topic again):

“Though recent lawsuits argue for that players are used for their likeness in video games and by not paying them and that the NCAA is violating antitrust laws, paying college athletes will create more problems than it solves, including complications with Title IX, revenue distribution gaps between different universities and the harmful effects it could bring to the game’s future” (Rubinstein, 2014, English 225).

As evidenced, she taught me how to present both sides of an argument in one sentence, while still finding a way to shut down the critics while presenting your side. Whenever I write columns for the Daily, or even when I am just interacting with friends, Professor Gibson’s advice comes in handy.      

In English 325, Art of the Essay, Jamie Delp made me feel like a kid who still rides a bike with training wheels. When she returned our first story, a personal narrative on any past experience, there were lines drawn down pages. Those lines, she said, started from the beginning and it ended where she stopped reading because she lacked interest.

She read four and half pages of seven.

Not bad. But it was a grave wake-up call. I needed to be better. While writing personal narratives, Jamie said using your voice would stimulate the reader. Sounds simple. And it was. On my final essay, she read all 10 pages. I wrote about a juice cleanse I conducted as an experiment. Long story short, it was an excruciating experience that I will never repeat. Here is my conclusion that doubled as a testimonial I submitted to the site:

 “If completing a BPC is like tripping on acid, as fellow testimonials propose, then it might be worth it. My trip included constant dreaming of buffalo chicken with ranch dressing — sounds pretty awesome, eh? On a more serious note, you feel like shit from the afternoon on. You have to drink this green juice, which is quite possibly the grossest thing on the planet. Lets just call it venom. I don’t think Elisabeth Hasselbeck has taste buds (see her testimonial). However, the feeling in the morning after a day of cleansing may make it worth it. Your pee will be clearer than a FIJI water bottle, and your jeans will certainly button easier. Trust me, this makes people jealous and by the end of the day, friends will be urging you to eat because they wish they were you. Health-wise, I have no idea if it works: I’m no scientist. But I’ll assume it did. Would I do it again? Perhaps. But NO green juice (Jason Rubinstein, 2015, English 325).

That’s my voice: That curmudgeon, angry, yet funny tone you can imply from reading that testimonial. It’s the voice that won't shy away from letting someone or something know that what they are doing is wrong. That’s Jason Rubinstein.

So long

I’m sitting here now on a private charter heading back to Ann Arbor from St. Paul, Minnesota. Only an hour ago, the Michigan hockey team won the Big Ten Tournament and secured its first NCAA Tournament berth since 2011-12. Guess who I wrote the deadline game story for? The Detroit News.

It was my first byline for a professional Michigan newspaper and it was incredibly flattering. Not only do I get to see my name in a newspaper that circulates to over 100,000 people, but I turned my story in on a grueling deadline despite the game’s uncertain finish.

It may seem petty, but the thought of Mrs. Whitlow was constantly in my mind throughout the night. It’s almost frustrating that I can’t erase the images of the teachers who doubted me. I should be able to move on. At this point it’s petty, right? Perhaps. But it still manages to fuel the writer in me. And I hope it always will. Because their doubt allows me to churn out my best work and I’m confident that will never change. If there’s anything I’ve learned from this, it’s that you can always turn a negative into a positive. You don’t have to be stuck like I was. I was in quicksand for nearly 10 years before I realized the only vehicle for change is yourself. You control your destiny. If you are content in remedial classes and it makes you happy, by all means stay there. But if you are or were like me, there is a way out; you just need to buckle down and work harder than you could ever imagine. The rest will take care of itself. You may have fundamental disagreements with your parents, but remember: you are in the driver’s seat. It’s funny: Not one of my close friends at Michigan know that I ever took remedial classes. Frankly, I bet they’d think I was lying if I told them that. You can be the same.

I won’t ever forget my past. I won’t forget those teachers. And I won’t forget the pain I endured.

It fuels me everyday.