I will be the first to admit I am not perfect, not even close. I will also be the first to admit that I am unsatisfied until I feel like anything I work on is perfect, which explains why my “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” book review is still not finished. I learned what a perfectionist was while I was in fourth grade because my teacher told me to look up its definition in the dictionary because I would find my name listed. Fourth grade was a very defining year for me. I learned so much more than basic multiplication, ecosystems and how electricity works. I learned that I put too much unnecessary pressure on myself. I am still a little guilty of this, but if it had not been for a conversation I had with my teacher, I’m not sure what I would be like today.
I’ll never forget that one day in particular in fourth grade. I was most likely wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, because my teacher was a huge “Terrible Towel” slinging, Pittsburgh Steelers fan, so we had a very fun rivalry and I wore that t-shirt as often as I could to get a rise out of him. He asked me to step out into the hallway with him because he wanted to talk to me. This was at the end of the school year because we always had awards day the day before field day. At my school, they handed out an award called the “Scholarship Award,” which always went to the two students in each classroom who had the best grades. I took school almost too seriously in my elementary days. I would cry if I left my books at school fearing I would have a pop quiz and be unprepared, I worried I would leave my homework at home and receive an incomplete and mostly I feared I would not receive the scholarship medallion with the genie bottle on it. I can laugh at this now, because even writing this makes me sound like the most absurd 9-year-old.