Living is Learning
People make mistakes; it’s just a fact of life. How we learn is doing things wrong and trying not to do that same thing again. Some mistakes are harder to fix than others. And some take longer than others.
I was thirteen years old at the time and I was in 7th grade. The weekend before had been fun, we went to the movies and I had spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with my friends. I had a lot of free time and did not have any homework… or so I thought. On Monday morning I woke up at 6:30 in the morning as usual and I happened looked at my planner before packing my backpack. In the Monday column in my planner in 6th period was the word test marked in big red sharpie letters highlighted in pink marker with lines jutting out from its sides like a Roman candle on the fourth of July. “How could I have missed it!” I thought. I had not studied for it at all! I told my mom and after much discussion with my father they decided to let me stay home to get all my studying done and come into school late. She was not happy with me, I could tell, but she left me alone to my work, saying this should never happen again. I got to school around 10:30, 4 class periods before the test.
You see everyone makes mistakes, and since then, I have not missed a test, and the funny thing is that when I got my test back, I got a 98% on it (go figure).
People make different varieties of mistakes, from using poisonous paint on a child’s toy, to measuring the wrong amount of flour in your bread recipe. Some only affect you, and others affect the whole entire world. But the good thing is, once we make a “booboo” we know not to do the same thing the next time, such as canceling that poisonous paint from production, and use a different kind, or learn to read directions more carefully. Either way you are improving.
One time I was playing “soccer” with my brother. I was looking down, trying to get the ball away from him, and not paying attention at the same time. (Not a good combination.) Suddenly my forehead slammed into the corner of a square post my dad had recently put up. I screamed in pain as my parents hastily drove to the emergency room at Shands hospital. I was seen by a doctor right away and got stitched up. The only thing fun out of that was the fact that I was eight years old and I got eight stitches.
As you can probably tell, I make a lot of dumb mistakes, but I learn from them…… no matter how long it takes.
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