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By Dr. Aminah Knight

Someone recently pointed out that there was a misspelling on my website. Actually, there were two. In two different places, I left out the first “r” in the word learning. The person who pointed it out did not do so gently. She questioned whether I should even be running an early learning center if I “couldn’t spell the word learning.”

That question has sat with me for days.

Not because I doubt my ability to lead my school. I know the love that fills our classrooms every day. I know the countless hours my staff pours into nurturing children. I know the tears, sacrifice, education, planning, and intentionality that built Excellence into what it is today.

But the situation made me think deeply about something else.

What happens to people when they feel they are not allowed to make mistakes out loud? Because when I went back and looked at the website, I didn’t see failure. I saw a younger version of myself trying her best. I saw a woman sitting up late at night teaching herself how to build a website from scratch on WordPress because she could not afford to hire someone to do it. This was before ChatGPT. Back when my daycare was still in my home and every single thing required me to learn as I went. I took classes. I watched tutorials. I researched endlessly. I built pages one by one. I shared resources not just for the families of our learning cent3er but for the wider community, of  events for families across DFW so that they could find enriching experiences with their children at parks, botanical gardens, theaters, museums, and local events. 

 And yes, somewhere in all of that effort, I missed two letters. Two letters in a website that was created with love, vision, determination, and purpose.

And honestly, I’m proud of that. Because if someone searches through years of my work trying to find flaws and the loudest thing they can uncover is two typos, then I must be doing something right. It also reminded me of my years teaching elementary school writing. When my students sat down to write, I never wanted them frozen by fear. I never wanted a child to have a beautiful story trapped in their mind because they were too anxious about spelling, handwriting, punctuation, or getting every single thing perfect the first time.

So I would tell them:

Write freely.

Misspell the words if you need to.

Forget the commas for now.

Just get your ideas out.

Pour your imagination onto the paper while it is still alive inside of you.

Because creativity is delicate. Shame crushes it quickly.

After the ideas were out, then we would revise. We would edit. We would strengthen the writing. We would celebrate growth. And at the end of the process, we would have publishing parties that the children looked forward to with so much excitement. I hope those students carried that lesson with them into adulthood. I hope they learned that mistakes are not proof that they are incapable. Mistakes are proof that they had the courage to create something.

Perfection has never been the requirement for beauty. Imagine if every creative person in history had stopped creating because someone mocked an imperfection in the middle of their process. The world would have missed out on people like Michael Jackson, Pablo Picasso, Prince, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Beyoncé, Hayao Miyazaki, Frida Kahlo, Bob Marley, and so many others whose creativity changed the world. Creativity requires vulnerability. Vulnerability requires safety. And that is why gentleness matters.

Correction does not have to come wrapped in humiliation. We can offer people grace while still offering truth. We can point things out without trying to tear someone down. We can choose to see human beings as more than the mistakes they make.

Every adult walking around was once a child learning how to exist in the world. And many adults who lash out at others are often carrying unresolved shame from moments when they themselves were not allowed to fail safely.

So for every parent, educator, mentor, leader, or simply every human being reading this:

Let children create freely.

Let people try.

Let others learn publicly.

Never impress on someone that one mistake should define the totality of who they are. The irony is that the misspelling was on the word learning. And maybe that is the most human thing of all. Because learning itself is imperfect. It is messy. It is ongoing. It is full of revision. And thankfully, so are we.

That’s what Excellence means to me. Excellence is not perfection. It is the courage to try, to keep learning, to keep growing, and to continue creating even when you may not get everything right the first time.

At Excellence Early Learning Center, we believe outcomes are never  promised. What matters most is the effort we pour into the process. So we teach children to be curious. To be resilient. To take risks. To revise. To dream. To create boldly without fear of shame. Because true excellence does not live in perfection.

It lives in the courage to keep becoming.

And I am deeply proud of that.