1st Grade Mistakes

This is from an old school assignment I stumbled on while searching through old files.

Prompt: Many people believe that mistakes are an important teacher. We learn by doing, and we often learn most by doing things imperfectly the first time. Write an essay about a time you learned something through making a mistake. Narrate the event clearly and interestingly. Be sure to express your thoughts about learning through making mistakes.


The young boy gasped and threw his arm out behind him to break his fall… an action that would hold disastrous consequences. Across the playground, small children screamed and ran around, playing games like “Hide and Seek” and “Lava Monster”, while the poor child lay on the ground, cradling his injured limb.

Only a half hour earlier, an open blue sky, with a bright, shining sun had ushered in the awaited recess hour, and the children had run out of the cafeteria as if it’d been in flames. This young boy had been playing on the hang gliders with his friends, when they had suddenly left him, for reasons only they can fathom. He had decided, in what may have perhaps been a moment of folly, to jump down himself, without the aid of his friends. He confidently let go of the warm metal bar and let himself drop the half-foot or so down to the metal platform (which rested another half-foot above the ground). However, instead of his feet landing solidly on the ancient metal, the swished through the air for a moment and he realized that he was falling. His momentum in letting go of the flying blue metal had left him in a position where he could not simply land on his feet, and he knew that he was going to hit the ground. Hard. And so, in a desperate bid to keep himself from any grievous injury, he had pushed his arm behind him. This turned out to be a poor decision, and years later he would berate himself for that decision. As he grew older, he realized that he could’ve simply let himself hit the ground. He would’ve sniffled a bit over his sore butt, and then he could’ve stumbled off after his friends.

But, only being in first grade, he did not know this. Instead, he hit the ground with his arm at an awkward angle, which resulted in an extremely painful collision with the ground. “Ouch” didn’t even begin to cover it. He sat on the ground, his poor arm throbbing in pain, and tried to stand up. He heard the recess whistle blow, and tried once more to get up so that he could get in line to go back inside and resume class, only to fall back onto his butt. He held his arm at his side, careful not to move it, as he had learned that moving it caused him excruciating pain. Without the use of his arms, getting off the ground was impossible.

A teacher, perhaps irate that this young boy had not gotten in line, and was still dawdling on the playground, or possibly concerned about the child’s pale face, walked over to the boy and helped him get up. As she pulled the boy to his feet, she must’ve noticed how he gingerly protected his left arm. She waved to the other teacher, her hand intimating to her that she could bring the other children, gawking at the poor boy with the injured arm, inside to resume their classes. The compassionate teacher brought the boy to the front of the school, their shoes clacking on the linoleum floor. The trip was mostly silent, with the teacher expressing concern about the boy, who was deathly pale. The boy was quiet, only saying that he was okay. Despite the fact that this was obviously untrue, the teacher did not press him.

They entered the office silently. The attendants, seeing the boy quiet, which was a new thing for everyone, immediately stood up and questioning the boy’s escort. She shushed them with the authority of a teacher who was used to the curiosity of small children, and simply asked if the nurse was in. One of the more level-headed workers, realizing the seriousness of the situation at the boy’s face, which was white as a sheet of clean paper, directed the kind teacher to the nurse’s office, declaring that she could see the boy.

Throughout this entire episode, the boy had spoken little, and was wrapped up in his thoughts and pains. Every time his arm was pressed against his side, or jostled a bit too much, pain infiltrated his mind, like a blade digging into his skin, and then pushing deeply. This unfortunate boy, when not concerned about his arm, worried about another thing, which was the newness of the situation he was in. The only times he went to the office was the rare occasions when there was something there for him, or during the annual checkups with the nurse, to check hearing and sight. This child worried, in the naïve way that children do that he was in terrible trouble. He was too scared to think that the adults surrounding him were actually worried about him.

He calmed down upon entering the nurse’s office, finally realizing he wasn’t in trouble. The nurse ran through some basic flexibility tests with this boy. The nurse quickly saw that the boy had broken his arm in his unlucky fall, and that he would require more serious aid than an elementary school nurse could provide. She laid the child down upon a cot, giving him some ice, which burned at first, then brought his arm to a comforting numbness. The child would remain there for the remainder of his time at school that day, alone, save for the nurse, and the occasional teacher or office attendant who would check in upon him, and once, the principal, showing concern for the student under his care. The boy’s mother, most likely very worried from the nurse’s phone call, arrived quickly and brought the child to the doctor’s, noting, as the nurse and teacher had, how carefully he protected the arm, like a mother with her baby.

All involved with the boy would later find that the child had broken his arm, rather severely for the short distance he fell. The next few months would be painful and new for the boy, whose arm was now trapped in a dull white cast, which would later be replaced with a shorter, less restrictive neon green one.

That day, and the months that followed, taught me about the importance of making the right choice quickly. Casting my arm behind me was a foolish thing to do, and I paid for that mistake in the months that followed. I needed help with basic activities, like eating and writing, and during recess I remained inside and read. Although in this case the mistake was partially caused by youthful naivety, many mistakes in life are caused by a lack of thought, which also played into the breaking of my bones. Every time I recall this episode in my life, I am embarrassed by how idiotic of me it had been to put my arm behind me. Indeed, I cannot even recall what I had thought at the time. That wasn’t even my only mistake. I could’ve easily called out to my friends for help, but I chose not to. A lot of time in life, people choose to do things on their own. Whether they believe that no one would help them, or that they don’t need help, they choose to go it alone. That is something that we should never be afraid to do: ask for help. There are people in our lives whose sole purpose is to help us, teachers and parents being prime examples. That being said, mistakes will happen regardless and we must do our best to learn from them. It is my belief that there are two kinds of “trials” in our lives; trials that we bring upon ourselves, through our mistakes, and other’s, and trials that are sent by God to help us grow and become better. I do believe that we have a loving Heavenly Father who wishes for us to grow and progress. To help us, he sends us these trials, to teach us and strengthen us. It’s a bit like the saying “whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger”.