Worthy of Praise?

Back in elementary school, I was often told how "cool" or "awesome" my drawings were. My jet powered monster truck was so cool that one of the kids in my third grade class wanted me to draw him one. I created a tiger that almost drew a crowd in the same class. In first grade, I drew every monster from the video game Doom II with an orange marker. I was sure I'd get in trouble for drawing things from a violent video game in school so I ripped it up. For reference, my name was written on the board for saying dork. Fart was also a dangerous word. I wasn't about to push the limits on the rules. I eventually told my dad about the Doom drawing and he said he would have wanted to see it.

Spelling tests were a more objective thing I excelled at. I'm pretty sure I didn't make a mistake on a graded spelling test until seventh grade. I can't remember it, but it was probably a devastating moment. At least I was finally free of my "must get every word correct" bonds. Doing something a certain way or trying to get specific results because that's the way it has always been can become a little stressful.

I was generally proud of my work for some time. Eventually, things changed. School assignments became less about visual creativity and dealing with strict rules like spelling. There were more essays, book reports, research papers, and speeches than ever. My standards for myself remained high but the work I was assigned was rarely anything I felt I was skilled at. I hated a lot of what I came up with. I rarely thought anything was good enough but sometimes I'd be told it was great. My thoughts of "wow, this is dumb" would be rocked when the assignment would be returned to me with a positive comment from the teacher written on it.

My work didn't always exceed my expectations. The William Beebe research paper I worked so hard on in eighth grade was given a C. Sometimes it was the opposite. A story about having trouble building my computer I wrote for English class in the 15 or so minutes before class started got me a B.

I'm not saying I hate being told that my work is good when I don't like it. It's mostly a positive feeling, but a strange one. I don't know if it was being commended often early in life that made me aim so high or if I was always that way. There are plenty of tasks where I take the "good enough" approach. This paragraph will be an example of that. Endings were never my strong suit.