FAILING WELL by JOE PARENTE (reading books for 5 year olds txt) 📖

Failing Well

TOM

It took ten minutes this time. That made him happy. The usual was about twelve so this was a record. For a guy that never finished anything accurately, this was a moment of accomplishment. Ever since he was a kid there was a feeling of failure. It wasn’t the failure that stemmed from doing something wrong; it was the failure of not finishing the project correctly. Trying to finish too quickly was the problem. He felt that the answer to any approval was to show abundance. That way, they would look through the poor quality. It worked every time he tried it therefore it became ingrained in him that quantity was best. In order to get all this done, he had to work fast.
Carpentry was tried at one time but never commercially. He just did things when needed, usually for himself or for a friend. The corners never fit quite close enough. The angles were simple but it took a particular person to make it perfect. He wasn’t that person. The advantage that he thought he had was that he could get it done.
If it was a large project, he completed it in record time. He was bored easily. If things were not done expeditiously, he lost interest. Completion was more important to him than the project itself. Things were completed and he got his check. Do not examine it closely. No one ever denied him as being a hard worker. How could they? He always got it done.
It was stage scenery. The fake front fooled friends and family. Compliments were everywhere. He was happy but inside his heart, he knew he failed.


WALT

It was so beautiful that it took a discerning eye to appreciate it completely. It was fine with him; it was fine, period. Extreme time was taken to finish it right. He measured several times to make it perfect. He could never keep up with the demand; it took too long to get things done. Several hours, days or even weeks had to be spent to do it right.
As a young man, his father brought him up to do things so that he would be proud of his accomplishment. His problem was that he was unable to make that word plural.
His workmanship was impeccable with never a flaw. Those that were fortunate enough to receive one of his pieces were very happy. All that saw it wanted one. They were disappointed when he couldn’t make them fast enough so delivery was never completed. With any type of project he was doing, he made sure it was done precisely. More were needed to make enough money.
He was fired from a great many jobs. It seemed that the owners could not afford to keep him because his numbers for fulfillment did not match his hourly pay. He was very proud of the work he did and persons that saw his achievements reveled, but in his heart, he knew he failed.


SHARON

What a beauty! Any one that saw her was mesmerized. She was confident in her walk because she knew that all parts of her were perfect. She spent a lot of time making sure her make-up was just so. She was college educated, very attractive and single. From one to ten, she was a twelve.
After graduating from the university, she completed finishing school. This gave her the knowledge to dress, cook and create an air of perfection.
She was alone. A friend was hard to find. Her look and demeanor was beyond perfect. Women and men were afraid to try to know her. They were certain that they would be turned down. Those men that tried dating her could not get over her superior beauty. Her dates were a one-time affair. There were no repeats.
She was successful at work and promotion was easy for her. Her position was able to afford her to a high standard of life. Any assignment that came to her was completed with speed and accuracy. She was crowned with success with every request except that deep inside she was alone. She was as happy as anyone could be during the day and especially at work. It was when she was home, in the evenings, particularly in the evenings. This is when her world came to a halt.
She was very lonely. The only thing that would let the late hours go by were the thoughts of reporting to work the next day. In this way, she could shine again. The ladder of success was hers to claim, but away from work, she knew she was a failure. The men in her life were usually connected to her job. She just wasn’t about to go along with their demands. The cads leaned on her. They drooled on her, especially the married ones. She hated it. The way she turned them off caused her to change jobs. She left on her own or was forced out of a job.


LILLY

Under a bridge, with nothing to eat was the way things were today and almost everyday. Her mother, an alcoholic, kicked her out of the trailer when she was fourteen years old. All she could remember of her father was what her mother had told her. He was a crack head.During her mother's pregnancy he left her and then died while imprisoned for murder before she was born.
Walking the streets, she was always cold. Damp ground soaked through the holes of worn shoes as she struggled to maintain the simplest form of a very hard life. All those that were around her were beggars, prostitutes, or thieves. She refused to be like her mother. Her mother was probably dead by now.
Being on the streets for the past three years had hardened her but she avoided the temptation of drugs or drunkenness. The only things that she had in common with those other filthy faces was that she was homeless and broke.
Those that were successful would look at her with disgust as they walked by her while she tried to survive at the foot of downtown skyscrapers. They would simply shake their head while she tried to show them her art. If only they would take the time to look.
They were sketches; they were her life’s sketches. She scrounged empty bottles to buy paper and pencils to achieve her work. One would never know how she captured the essence of the homeless. The expressions of those that struggled in those dank alleys was amazing. The sad, forlorn looks of strife that surrounded her came out in her drawings. They made you cry as every bit of feeling of despair showed in her depictions. If only someone would take the time to look at them.
One drawing depicted a police officer making an arrest of a vagrant. The man was probably thirty years old but he looked as though he was much older. Wearing a worn and threadbare coat with pants that were torn about the cuff was the best he could do. The charcoal sketch had one tethered hand against the brick wall in an alley.
Lilly was able to capture the feelings in her drawings. Her art told the true story of what she drew. It was a snapshot that looked directly into the soul of her subject.
The cop was reaching up to force the vagrant’s other hand into the remaining handcuff. One shoe was half off caused from a feeble attempt to escape. The look of despair on his dirty thin face showed the unwillingness to comply but he was accepting the fact that he was caught. A small ragged dog was pulling on the pant leg of the policeman in an attempt to protect the man that was being arrested. The look on the animal was one of sadness because his master was going away. Scenes like these seemed to humanize the plight of those that were living on the street.
Her fingernails were chewed to the quick as she worked the magic of charcoal against her priceless paper. The shading and direction stretched to infinity while the background of buildings and city surroundings framed those magnificent drawings. Although she drew in black and white, all of those sketches had such wonderful detail and subject matter. You would swear that they were done in bright vivid color.
The winter that was about to come did not bother her because all she cared about was the artwork. She was able to survive three cold seasons and she knew that she could survive the next. A found, discarded overcoat was her savior. Enough empty returnable bottles and cans were her foundation. Her one hundred and ten drawings were her reason. Being without, was her failure.
Winter had passed and summer was on her. Lilly had to keep her belongings in a large plastic bag for fear of having things stolen. Those that lived on the street had no permanent place to keep things. This added to the misery.

One morning an older business man took the short time he had before a meeting to glance at one of Lilly’s drawings. He was taken with awe by the close detail of this piece and asked the price. “What do you want for this?”
The drawing was of a dozen of suited professionals trying to get to work on time. Some were running or walking fast onto stair steps that led to the buildings front door. The thing that the strange business man noticed was the desperation of expression on each of the faces of the subjects. The look on their faces seemed to be ruled by an unseen force that urgently demanded them to be on time. This push, press, shove was evident only in the faces of these controlled people; without touching each other, they were driven to make it into the building.
Lilly spoke up. “Is five dollars too much?”
“Sorry, all I have is a hundred.” He smiled and turned into his building after jamming the large bill into her coat pocket. “Keep the change; this is good!” He ran into the building.
With a frown that turned into a great smile, Lilly discovered that in her pocket was a real one hundred dollar bill. She knew what to do next. She would run to the nearest Salvation Army to buy new clothes and get something to eat. She knew the perfect place. It was a few blocks away and they served a vigorous fifty cent cup of coffee.


LANNY

One day old today with a constant smile as he was born. Those short arms jerking about in awkward movements would happen months later. Thick thighs and shoulders with triple chins and round head searched for mother’s milk. Legs were kicking as Lanny's powdered rear felt as smooth as silk.
Eyes were so wide that the dull searching stare was trying to sense everything around it. Soon the cloudiness would disappear making his eyes focus on a clear view of mom.
Laughing, gurgling, and drooling were the events now. On the stomach, on the back, able to lift up