I forget the exact circumstances.  I do, however, remember the feeling of humiliation and embarrassment. 

I had made a crossword puzzle for my 5th grade classmates.  I was moderately proud of my creation and, as copies were distributed to my peers, ready to savor the accomplishment.

But, I did not expect what came next…

 As the class began to solve the puzzle there started a bit of a ruckus.  There was laughter and an absurd allegation that I had misspelled one of my words.

Impossible! 

I thought as my face flushed. 

How could I have made a mistake so basic? 

They had to be wrong…

But, as I examined the evidence, my initial denial was soon replaced by dismay, and my heart sank weighted down by the reality: I had misspelled a word. The entire puzzle was irreconcilable for those who knew correct spelling and I was an imbecile.

It was something awful.  My lack of proper editing (still a weakness) had made me a laughingstock and I was absolutely devastated.  I wanted to crawl under a rock to get away from the cackling in the room.  But there was no escape and no recourse.

What I had hoped to be a moment of satisfaction was now a nightmarish reality of abject failure.  I couldn’t hold it in.  Emotions overcame me in the study hall period after and I began to cry.

Mr Berger, the shop teacher, was my comfort that day as I sobbed my pain and disappointment.  I’m not sure if he said much, but I know that I felt his empathy and understanding. 

My terrible mistake probably mattered very little to him.  The condemnation and ridicule faded in importance. His love remained.