Even Robin Hood had to start somewhere

My kindergarten class was buzzing; children were drawing and cutting and pasting. As per usual, the girls were playing in the doll centre (that’s what we called it in the times before political correctness caused it to become a ‘play centre’, even though no one cared and boys never did end up playing there), and the boys were using Lego and other toys to build weapons of mass destruction and other phallic symbols (don’t criticize my point until you’ve watched little boys play). Anyway, all was running smoothly until one little guy came out of the bathroom to tell me that another boy had had an accident. Great.


In I walked to find said student, still standing half naked over the toilet with his pants around his ankles. All around him on the floor was a little yellow puddle. It was a Norman Rockwell moment-truly sweet and humourous, but I forced myself to stifle the smile and be teacher-like.

How did that happen?, I asked in my oh-so-professional, teacher voice.

The little boy turned his head, glared at me in disgust with his huge, dark brown eyes and belted out,

Ms. A., have you ever tried to aim one of those things?

As we are knee deep into the High Holy Days, I’m reminded of the Hebrew word ‘chet’. People often translate the word as ‘sin’, but is in fact an archery term, indicating that one has missed his mark. Missing the mark is scary. Fear of missing the mark is even scarier.

I’m thinking about that little boy and how he handled himself (pardon the pun) when confronted with missing his mark. Here he was, caught (literally) with his pants down, and nevertheless had the self-confidence and dignity to defend himself. He knew that he was still learning how to be independent and knew that eventually he would master the skill. He knew that despite this mishap, he was going to go on, live his life and for the most part, refrain from missing the toilet. He was okay with that.

I admit to being afraid of ‘missing the mark’. In considering blog writing, I had to conquer many fears. Will I be able to keep the blog going on a regular basis? Will I run out of ideas? And then there’s the worst one…will I be laughed at?

I came close to not starting this at all until I remembered the story of the little boy. He wasn’t afraid to be caught with his pants down. Maybe I shouldn’t be afraid, either.

I have learned that missing the mark isn’t the worst thing in the world. This blog might turn out to be a dud, or it could be that I’ll write for years. I am going to try to write every week, but I may decide it isn’t working for me. I might miss the mark, but I’ll celebrate that I accomplished what I accomplished. And then I’ll take the lessons I’ve learned and move forward.

Each day, we have a number of goals we aim to accomplish. Sometimes we achieve them. Other times we miss the mark. In this New Year, I hope to learn to be more like my little student; I will try to achieve my goals, but if I miss the mark, I’ll just pull my pants up, clean up the mess and start again tomorrow!