Five

I have this student, I'll call her Michelle. Michelle is an absolute joy to teach. She listens intently, she colors beautifully, she studies faithfully, she sings cheerfully, and she always hugs me when she walks in the room. Not only is she a superb student, but she is also a caring friend and loving daughter.

In a hurry, today Michelle spelled her name wrong by one letter--in colored pencil. Upon realizing her error and the fact that she couldn't erase the letter, I saw my beautiful student crumple. I reached across the table to comfort her, telling her it was okay. In a minute I knew that this was no small incident to her. I hurried around the tables and chairs taking Michelle in my arms. She fell into me, sobbing. In my meager Spanish I told her something like, "Don't cry. It's not a problem. Don't worry. Michelle, it's okay. You do not have to be perfect." Between tears she stammered out that she had spelled it wrong, and she couldn't fix it.


You don't have to be perfect. My heart hurts to think about my darling five-year-old Michelle. How does someone so young learn this exacting mindset? When I looked into her face, I saw myself. I remembered the too many times I have let striving for perfection bring me to tears. I don't want her to have to go through that. I am learning to let go, learning to lighten up, to forgive myself, to let go of perfection. But what about Michelle? I only have three more months here, and then I'll be gone. I wish I could always be there for her, but I can't and that's hard.

Thankfully she was able to calm down before I had to leave (I was a couple minutes late to my next class). I reminded her to breath deep breaths and then she went to drink water. Before I left, I made sure to look in in the eyes and tell her "I love you." She told told me that she loved me, we did our special high-five routine, and I gave her a big hug. Doesn't it just break your heart? She is FIVE. Five-years-old.