A Proud Moment

I think, since time began, that grandmothers have reserved the right to brag on their grandkids. Right? Well, whether that is true or not, I’m going to do some bragging!

We are in the midst of fair season here in Colorado. A couple of weeks ago, my granddaughter and her neighbor participated in the talent show at one of the local fairs. They each sang a song in their respective age categories, then sang one together in the “group” entry. The little neighbor girl, who is 3, won second place in the 3-6 yr old category. My granddaughter, who is 7, won first place in the 7-12 yr old category, and the both of them won first place in the group category! Madison won a big blue ribbon, $30 in cash, and a T-shirt for her individual first, then they each received a blue ribbon and a wrist band for all the rides for their group first place awards. Then, they had a drawing for various other prizes with all the kids’ names and didn’t they draw Madison’s name first! She won a huge teddy bear that is almost taller than she is. It was quite an exciting evening!

I think what made me the proudest, though, was the fact that Madison never did brag about her first place status. I did, but she didn’t. If we met someone in town who I knew would enjoy hearing the news, and I told her, “tell (whoever) your big news”, she would cover her little eyes with her hands in total humility.

We could all take lessons from the innocence and the meekness of those two little girls. When they stood up there in front of an eager audience, handed the contest leader their CD, and began singing along with the music, they did so with all their heart. They didn’t expect to win and they didn’t really care. They did it for the simple pleasure of singing songs they enjoy and swaying to the beat.

For days before the talent show, they took time away from their usual play to work out their routine, practice it, and perfect it. They could have decided they didn’t want to participate, that after an hour or so of repeatedly singing the same songs and dancing the same steps, that this was totally ‘boring” and not fun anymore.

The determination and resolve of these little girls to commit to something and see it through to the end has put me to shame. If I could approach my writing life with that same spirit of striving to do my best, no matter what the outcome, I would feel a lot better about myself. If I would commit to practice my skills, always putting everything I have into doing the best I can possibly do without getting discouraged, I’d probably be surprised at how much my writing would improve. It’s so easy to quit when it’s not “fun” anymore.

And sometimes it isn’t. To give so much time to a chapter and present it to a new critique group, only to have them point out obvious flaws that I just plain missed, and so did the critics before them, is discouraging. It takes time and effort and concentration and determination to sit down and plan all the necessary elements of a story. Sometimes it’s just plain hard work.

Anything worth having is. So, I pull up another blank computer page and start to type words on it that will become sentences and eventually paragraph that will form a story. When seeds of discouragement begin to take hold, I draw in a deep breath and remember two little girls on a warm and rainy night in Southeastern Colorado who gave their best effort to a crowd of strangers. Who knows where it might lead them someday.

Simply because they chose not to quit.

Thanks for reading my blog!