The Perfect Scarf
I was about fifteen years old when I asked my aunt to teach me how to knit, I had seen her do it before and I loved the idea of creating something so lovely all on your own and having it around forever as proof. She was happy to teach me and I was eager to learn. It certainly seemed simple enough that was until I attempted to knit a scarf on my own. I just didn’t have the patience for it and I know it sounds silly but I couldn’t accept that I wasn't perfect.
My obsession with being perfect began at a young age when I realized the real reason I lived with my grandmother, hundreds of miles away from my parents. When I learned my parents had no interest in looking after me, raising me, or loving me, I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t good enough, that I at the tender age of six had done something wrong to deserve that. I'm not sure why but I never spoke of this misconception with anyone. It could have been that it made me feel unwanted and shameful or simply because the subject of my parents was always touched lightly and rarely in my presence. When they were mentioned in front of me they described the situation as life showing us its sense of humor even if we didn’t always find it funny and I was always assured that they had made a mistake, that I was a great kid and would grow up to be a great person with even greater accomplishments. Well I held on to this idea and more or less molded my life around it, convincing myself that I was loved for my academic achievements and wanted because of my shy nature and perfect behavior. Basically slipping up or failure wasn’t an option because it would lead to more rejection. This notion was only reinforced by my aunts' comments, always asking why my cousins couldn’t be more like me. So I continued to make straight A's and had impeccable manners.
By the time I started high school, however, I’d noticed my grades weren't such a big deal anymore. It's not that my grandma wasn't proud of every A...