A few years ago, there was a kid where I work named Bugsy (or that's just what I'm going to call him anyway). He was a very smart kid, precocious even. He was a perfectionist. If he didn't get something right it would bother him, and bother him, until he got it right. That isn't always a bad thing, it can be good, but there are limits to everything. Here is an example: I was teaching the kids how to do pull over's on the uneven bars (for those of you who aren't aware of gymnastics terms, that just means pulling yourself onto the bar by flipping under it first, it's a basic bar skill). None of the kids can do this right away, because they need to learn how to distribute their weight and other things like that. When it came to Bugsy's turn, he almost did it, a little better than everybody else, but still couldn't quite get himself over the bar. So I said, "That was a really great try Bugsy, you'll get it next time." Then I told him to go sit down and to wait for his next turn. He wouldn't budge until I let him try again. He had this face that he made, it was somewhere between determination and trying not to cry. Finally he ended up being able to do it, after many tries, and truthfully, I almost threw him over the bar by myself, he didn't have enough strength to do it himself after trying so many times.

One day he came into class, and there was obviously something bothering him. When questioned he wouldn't tell anybody what was wrong, but he was half crying throughout the whole class. We were on vault, doing speed exercises. The whole point was that they had to land on their feet. He fell. We also had them doing dive rolls afterwards to keep them occupied a bit longer before they had to return to sitting and waiting for their turn. He was upset already, then he was upset because he fell. When he came to do the dive roll, something he usually does very well, he stumbled and rolled off the mat. He wasn't hurt, just a little more shaken than he already was. Apparently that was the last straw, he got up and ran out of the gym and into the hall crying. I would have left him alone for a few minutes, but we're not allowed to let the kids out of the gym, so I went after him. He was just sitting there crying. I got him up and told him to get a drink. Then I walked back in to the gym with him, sat him down on the bleachers, away from everybody else. I said, "Bugsy, what's wrong?" He started rambling on about how horrible he was at everything, how stupid he was, how he couldn't do anything right. I never did find out what was bothering him that day. I tried to negate the statements he was making about himself the best I could, but I doubt I made any impression. He seemed to feel better at the end of his tirade and returned to class.

That was the first day that I thought about becoming a psychologist. I wanted to know why someone that young could have such a low opinion of himself. I wanted to know how to help him. I wanted to know who had made him be that self deprecating. I wanted to know what was going on in his mind. I still don't know what I want to be, but I am still thinking about being a child psychologist. Just a story. Just talking. Ignore me, I make no sense, lol.