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Just something I whipped up out of writers block and boredom - but let me know what you think , anyways! :) If something ever did come of this it would be a short illustrated kids book, because that's really what it's wrote for.
The Girl Who Wasn't a Ballerina
Rosette Willoughby was the youngest girl in her family of six girls. All her sisters were ballerinas, her father a composer, her mother played the violin. But Rosette was none of those. All Rosette did was play with her dolls.
Rosette was not graceful enough to be a ballerina, Rosette couldn’t read the notes on a sheet of music, and even when she tried to arrange them like she saw her father do, it ended up in just a noisy jumble. Rosette was good at nothing…or so she thought.
One day, Rosette decided she would find out what she was good at. Everyone has to be good at something. Rosette set off to the park that afternoon, determined to find what she could do.
Rosette hadn’t been walking down the stone paths in the park long, when she saw a group of girls playing jump-rope. Could it be? Is that what she was good at? Rosette asked if she could play…and after three skips when she tripped and tore her stocking, Rosette decided jumping rope was definitely not her thing.
When she rounded the big cherry tree she saw a group of boys playing jacks. Maybe she was good at jacks! She tried, but every time she rolled the marble she missed! She thanked the boys and moved on.
It wasn’t but a few minutes later when Rosette came across a clown. In just a few minutes she had her own little plastic red nose, but when none of the children laughed at her jokes, tears welled in her eyes. It wasn’t clowning either.
Rosette's head drooped and she dropped onto the bench under the cherry tree. Could it be that she was good at nothing? She had tired ballet, music, jump-rope, jacks…even being a clown! But she was good at none of those things. She wiped at her teary eyes. Not everyone was good at something.
A noise sounded beside her and she looked up to see her father standing at her side. When he sat down beside her and asked her what was wrong, Rosette could hold back her tears no longer.
“Daddy,” she cried, “My sister are ballerinas, you and mommy make beautiful music. Other little girls skip rope, the boys play jacks, even the clown is good at what he does!”
“But Daddy,” She sniffed, “I’m not good at anything!” She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, sobbing. “I can’t do any of those things that others do! I’m no good at all.” She heard her father chuckle and looked up.
Her father settled her on his knees, and tilted her chin up to look at him. “God made me, God made your mommy and sisters, and God made you. All of us are made in his sight, and all of us are special. You like to play with your dolls, don’t you?”
Rosette nodded, her tears drying.
“And you have to have an imagination to do that, don’t you?”
"Yes," Rosette smiled, thinking of the day before when she had imagined her and her dolls at the beach playing in the sand.
“And you like to help your mommy around the house.”
Rosette thought back. She had! “Yesterday I helped mommy with the laundry.”
Her father smiled. “So, you have a good imagination, you’re good at helping your mother…and what about singing? I heard you humming to your dolls this morning.”
Rosette bit her lip in thought. Her daddy was right! She liked to sing, she used her imagination better that any of her sisters, and she helped her mother everyday. “Maybe I am good at something! I’m good at being myself.”
Her father stood, setting her on her feet and taking her hand to walk through the rest of the park.
Rosette smiled up at her father. “God made me special, and from now on, I’ll be happy just the way He made me.”
From then on Rosette was happy helping her mother, taking care of her dolls, and singing sweet lullabies to her babies. When she grew up, Rosette wasn’t a ballerina like her sisters, but she was happy just the way God made her.
(c) Micah Widdis 2009
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