Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Permission to Fail

By Aletha Jane Lindstrom

Each of us fails from time to time. If we are wise, we accept these

failures as a necessary part of the learning process. But all too often as

parents and teachers we deny this same right to our children. We convey

either

by words or by actions that failure is something to be ashamed of, that

nothing

but top performance meets with our approval.

When I see a child subject to this kind of pressure, I think of

Donnie.

Donnie was my youngest third-grader. He was a shy, nervous

perfectionist.

His fear of failure kept him from classroom games that other children

played

with joyous abandon. He seldom answered questions - he might be wrong.

Written

assignments, especially math, reduced him to nail-biting frustration. He

seldom

finished his work because he repeatedly checked with me to be sure he

hadn't

made a mistake.

I tried my best to build his self-confidence. And I repeatedly asked

God

for direction. But nothing changed until midterm, when Anne, a

student

teacher, was assigned to our classroom.

She was young and pretty, and she loved children. My pupils, Donnie

included, adored her. But even enthusiastic, loving Anne was baffled

by

this little boy who feared he might make a mistake.

Then one morning we were working math problems at the chalkboard.

Donnie

had copied the problems with painstaking neatness and filled in answers for

the

first row. Pleased with his progress, I left the children with Anne

and

went for art materials. When I returned, Donnie was in tears. He'd missed

the

third problem.

My student teacher looked at me in despair. Suddenly her face

brightened.

From the desk we shared, she got a canister filled with pencils.

" Look, Donnie, " she said, kneeling beside him and gently lifting the

tear-

stained face from his arms. " I've got something to show you. " She removed

the

pencils, one at a time, and placed them on his desk.

" See these pencils, Donnie? " she continued. " They belong to Mrs.

Lindstrom

and me. See how the erasers are worn? That's because we make mistakes

too.

Lots of them. But we erase the mistakes and try again. That's what you

must

learn to do, too. "

She kissed him and stood up. " Here, " she said, " I'll leave one of

these

pencils on your desk so you'll remember that everybody makes mistakes, even

teachers. " Donnie looked up with love in his eyes and just a glimmer of a

smile

- the first I'd see on his face that year.

The pencil became Donnie's prized possession. That, together with

Anne's frequent encouragement and unfailing praise for even Donnie's small

successes, gradually persuaded him that it's all right to make mistakes -

as

long as you erase them and try again.