When you deny someone to fail, you also deny their growth
THERE are times when being mediocre is liberating.
When I attended Zakhele Primary School in Mamelodi, northeast of Pretoria, I was always in the top two and sometimes three of my class.
There was constant pressure to remain at the top and the anxiety of waiting for my report card every quarter might be the reason I have ulcers today.
In the third quarter of Grade 4, I was devastated that I came fourth.
The entire school – except the three who had trumped me – tried to comfort me, but I was inconsolable.
You see, I was not achieving for myself, I was just avoiding a hiding.
My liberation came in the form of model C schooling. My marks plummeted in the first quarter at my new school. They dropped so low, my English teacher was prompted to call my mother to inform her that I would not be passing that year.
But I didn’t fail that year or any year after that. My marks rose high enough to be average, where they remained until I matriculated.
You are probably judging me for maintaining a near perfect record of mediocrity. But mediocrity helped me to find my voice and my passion. Once I become average, expectations were lowered or completely dropped. Nobody anticipated a doctor, a scientist or an engineer.
My achievements throughout high school were so underwhelming, they forced my mother to celebrate the little things, like my getting through every year without falling pregnant. With so little pressure, I finally tasted the freedom I needed to be a child. I stopped doing things for reward or to escape punishment, but because I wanted to and I enjoyed them.
I played, failed, learnt and achieved in my quiet little corner without an audience. And as I gravitated to activities I loved, I even picked up a few service awards. Service awards in those days were not considered an achievement. They were seen to be given to helpful, passionate, but untalented pupils. Pupils who achieved academically and in sports received the most praise and attention as well as the bulk of the pressure.
Teachers, parents and other pupils projected their anticipations on them and these pupils were always under immense pressure to succeed.
When you take someone’s space to fail, you also take their opportunities to grow. Our competitive culture does not recognise that we evolve through failure and grit.
In university, I found a passion for economics and I began to perform well. Eventually, I worked for a top company doing important work for important people, but I was not happy.
I had to remind myself of the lessons I had learnt in high school when few thought I had it in me to be anything, but average. I remembered that I was happiest when I was of service.
That I made something of my life is a surprise to many, not because they expected me to fail, but because they expected nothing from me. Just the other day I was asked if my family was proud of me. My mind went blank. I muttered something about assuming they might be.
The truth is that I have lived so long without expecting validation. I have forgotten what it looks like.
Human beings are amazing creatures. We have to trust that when given the opportunity to try different things, we will surpass our biggest expectations.