my perfectionist story. part 1 of 3.

My desk in grade one
was filled with notebooks
neatly stacked,
with everything
in its place.
Pencils and erasers
lined up
at the front.
A certificate received
for catching me
with a clean desk.

The Emo Fall Fair
brought hopes
that my straight and even letters,
that I had erased
multiple times
until perfect,
would award me
a ribbon of first place
in the exhibition hall.

Spelling Bees
and practicing
for the upcoming spelling test.
The pride that came
with seeing
written on my paper,
along with a sticker
from the teacher.

Piano recitals
and music festivals,
with me perched on the edge
of a padded piano bench
just praying
that I wouldn’t make

My name published
in the local newspaper
along with my classmates
for being on
the high school Honour Roll
every semester
for five years
(back when there was OAC).

Not hanging out
with kids who used drugs
or slept around.
I had been taught
at an early age
they were losers.

to a university
with an entrance scholarship.
Then working hard
to have high enough grades
to be accepted
into the competitive
Concurrent Education program.

Completing my Masters Degree
while teaching my first
long-term occasional position.
Getting a coveted
contract teaching position
at the age of 21.

I sound really annoying
don’t I?
Full of myself even.
I totally get it.
And yet,
there was an emptiness.

As a new teacher,
I attended every workshop I could
constantly refining
my teaching practice.
I could always do better.
There was always something
new to learn.

Opportunities for leadership arose.
I became a demonstration classroom,
with other teachers, principals, and superintendents
coming to my classroom
to watch me teach math.
I didn’t understand why.
My program was far
from perfect.

I became a curriculum consultant
at 29 years of age.
I couldn’t believe
they chose me.
There had to be stronger candidates.
I was the youngest on the team.

I didn’t realize
I was a perfectionist
until I had kids.
That’s when
the wheels fell off.

One Reply to “my perfectionist story. part 1 of 3.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s