A former teenage author turned twenty and her stabs at writing life and living to write.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Little Bobby's Flarin' Fiddle

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Bobby. Bobby lived in a small house on the outskirts of a large city. His family had little money, and what they had was all used up to pay for singing lessons for Susie, karate for Kendra, and dance for Dayton. And though few people knew about it, Bobby had a secret desire to learn to play the fiddle.

When Bobby finally summed up the courage to ask his parents for lessons, he was shocked to find that they laughed at him. Why would such a silly boy want to do such a foolish thing?

"Why, your name doesn't even start with an F. How do you plan on learning to play the fiddle when your name starts with a B?" Bobby's mother said. "Perhaps we should try you out on a nice bass."

But Bobby was not going to give up that easily. He dreamed of playing the fiddle, and play the fiddle he would. Quietly one morning, Bobby went into the big city and bought an old violin. He took in home in a grocery bag, so the neighbors wouldn't ask. This would be an embarrassment to the community! So, everyday after school, Bobby ran to a large meadow by his house. There, for hours and hours on end, he would play the fiddle... over and over... again and again... until one day, he was quite good. The music was soft and sweet, lilting to the ear.

Now that Bobby had mastered his great skill, he made a declaration to the neighborhood. Surely, since he was now quite good on his fiddle, the people of the community would not mind. But, just as he announced his astonishing news, the people began to throw tomatoes. One old, grouchy man in particular turned around and refused to even notice Bobby existed ever again. Everyday Bobby would beg someone to listen to his fiddle, but they all refused. His parents barred his windows so that he could no longer continue in such shenanigans.

So here we leave Bobby. I'll admit, it's not a good ending, but sometimes the story ends badly. Sometimes there is simply nothing more to say. Should Bobby be content with the knowledge that he can play the fiddle, despite the ignorance of his town? Should he be content to never share his passion with anyone ever? Or would it have been better for Bobby to never learn at all?

This is not some insane, rambling story. It sounds like it, yes, but it's not. This frightening tale is actually based in fact. And if you can't interpret, I disown both of you!! Really, I'm not crazy. It's just been one of those days!!!

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