Birthplace of my Perfectionism

I remember being in a parent teacher conference with my mother in elementary school. The teacher was mentioning how well I was doing, referring to the tally of “A’s” in each column. My mother scanned downward along the list, her eyes catching on the single “B” listed amongst the rest, in the section labeled Participation. My mom’s disappointment seared into my memory, even as my teacher beamed at me.