What a 6-Year-Old Me Taught the Adult Me

Recently, during a visit to my hometown, I ended up going through a lot of old things my parents have carefully preserved over the years. This is one of the nicest parts about going home – rediscovering bits from the past that quietly take you back to a different time. A time when the worst injuries were bruised knees, and the biggest stress was finishing homework before evening playtime.

Among these old things were my school report cards – from Class 1 onwards. The very first one brought back memories of a particular day that taught me a lesson I’ve carried with me ever since, even though I had long forgotten its origin.

But before I get to the story, here’s a picture of that report card.

If you look at the highlighted section, you’ll notice “A” written against a few subjects in very faint ink. This story is about those faint “A”s.

I had just received my report card during the PTA meeting. I had stood 1st in class in the second term, an improvement from my 3rd position in the first term. My mother, who attended all my PTA meetings while my father was usually at work, was visibly proud.

Back then, coming 1st in class felt like a genuine achievement. Growing up in a middle-class family in a tier-3 city, these small moments of joy were deeply treasured. On our way back from school in a cycle rickshaw, my mother bought me a Dairy Milk chocolate – a small celebration. Later that evening, she cooked my favourite dinner. My elder sister showed my report card to her friend, and when my father returned from work, he too was delighted with the result. In my little mind, I felt like the reason behind all this happiness, and I remember feeling truly proud.

In hindsight, perhaps a little too proud.

We were given the report card for the weekend to get it signed at home, and had to return it on Monday. After my father signed it, I looked at it once more before putting it in my bag. While most subjects had a Grade A or Grade 1, three of them – Moral Science, SUPW, and Activity – had a Grade B, which stood out like a sore thumb. And in a moment that clearly proved I’d earned that B in Moral Science, I took my father’s pen and quietly added an “A” in faint ink next to those subjects – not for the current term, but for the next one. As if to say, “This is what I’ll get next time.” But if I’m honest, it wasn’t determination as much as pride that was reflected in those faintly written As.

The following Monday, we had to hand over our signed report cards to the class teacher. When my turn came, I proudly handed mine to her produly. She opened it to check if it had been signed… and then noticed the additions I had made.

What followed was one of the most humiliating moments of my school life.

My class teacher scolded me harshly in front of the entire class. She held my hand and shook it sharply, asking why I had written on the report card. The classroom fell silent. Everyone was watching. I stood there, face flushed, tears quietly rolling down, unsure of what had just happened. This was the same teacher who had praised me just two days ago, and now I was being reprimanded. I realised I had made a mistake, that I should never have written on the report card. And I wish the lesson had ended there.

But the real one came a few months later.

When the third term results were announced, I had slipped to the 5th position. In my entire school life, there were very few occasions when I wasn’t among the top three, and this was the first. I was too young then to understand phrases like “success went to his head,” but I had lived it.

What made it worse was that my mother still bought me a chocolate on the way back home. From that day on, it became a quiet ritual – no matter the result, I would get a chocolate for my effort. I was expecting my father to scold me, but he didn’t say a word. In hindsight, I think those quiet acts of kindness had a deeper impact than any scolding ever could.

See Also: Lessons From My Maths Teacher That Shaped My Career

It has been over 30 years since that day. I had forgotten all about this incident, but the feeling had stayed with me all along, buried somewhere in my subconscious, and quietly shaping how I approach success, and my parenting style. This trip home helped me remember where it all began and reminded me of a few important truths:

• That success, especially early success, can get to your head if you’re not careful, and it often has a way of bringing you down soon after.
• That silent gestures – like my mother still buying me chocolate, or my father choosing not to scold me – can sometimes teach more than loud words.
• And that some of the strongest lessons we carry with us are the ones we don’t even realize we’ve learnt.

There are a few more such memories from school that left a lasting impression – like the time I remembered my Maths holiday homework on the very last day of the vacation, or when I forgot the poem I was supposed to recite in front of the whole school during morning assembly. But that’s for another time.

Photo Credit:

1. Feature Image: Photo by kyo azuma on Unsplash