Determination

When I was about seven, I was supposed to be in a recital for my skating class. It was a big recital, with all the classes participating. The different levels were different animals. My younger sister's class were all little bluebirds. My class was to be a mob of kangaroos.

For whatever reason, I did not want to skate in the recital. I can't remember why I was so resistant; perhaps I didn't want to wear the big, bulky kangaroo costume, perhaps I got claustrophobic in the big kangaroo head we were supposed to wear, or maybe it was plain old stage fright.

I went to all the rehearsals and skated with my class during the whole lead-up, but I made it clear that I didn’t want to participate in the final recital. My mother, having been around me for seven years and already having a fair idea of my determination (or stubbornness, if you will), knew that I would not be convinced, coerced or forced, so she advised the costume maker not to bother making me a costume. The costume maker, being experienced in dealing with more mutable and fickle children, tried to tell my mother that I might change my mind.

To paraphrase my mother: "No chance in hell."

I very happily did not skate in the recital. I cheered on my bluebird sister, flapping her little arm-wings with her class. I worried when she fell way behind her slightly older and larger classmates, and ended up half a rink behind them when they left the ice. I was very (and vocally) relieved to see one of the assistants skating out to meet her as she slowly crossed the ice alone. She continued her flapping as she was carried off.

I did not once doubt or regret my decision.

Ah, to know my own mind so well now!