Each of us fails from time to time. If we are wise，we accept these failures as a   (1)  part of the learning process. But all too often as parents and teachers we   (2)   this same right to our children.

   When I see a child suffer from this kind of   (3)  , I think of Donnie.

   Donnie was my youngest third grader. His   (4)  of failure kept him from classroom games that other children enjoyed. He  (5)  answered questions—he was afraid he might be wrong. I tried my best to build his  (6)  . But nothing changed until mid-term, when Mary Anne, a student teacher, was assigned to our classroom．She was young and pretty, and she loved children. Many pupils, Donnie included, all  (7)   her very much.

   One morning, we were working on math problems at the chalkboard, Donnie had   (8)   the problems with pains-taking tidiness. Pleased with his progress, I   (9)  the children with Mary Anne and went for art materials. When I returned, Donnie was in   (10)  . He’d missed the third problem.

   My student teacher looked at me in despair. Suddenly her face   (11)  . From the desk we shared, she got a container filled with pencils.

   “Look, Donnie,” she said, kneeling beside him and gently   (12)   the tern-stained face from his arms, “I’ve got something to   (13)   you.” She removed the pencils, one at a time, and placed them on his desk.

    “See these   (14)  , Donnie,” she continued, “They belong to Mrs. Lindstrom and me．See how the erasers are   (15)  ? That’s because we make mistakes too. But we erase the mistakes and try again. That’s what you   (16)  learn to do, too.”

She kissed him and stood up. “Here,” she said, “I’ll leave one of these pencils on   (17)  desk so you’ll remember that everybody makes mistakes,  (18)   teachers.” Donnie looked up with love in his eyes and a smile.

    The   (19)   became Donnie’s prized possession. That, together with Mary Anne’s frequent encouragement, gradually   (20)   him that it’s all right to make mistakes — as long as you erase them and try again.