“A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him or her.”
-
David Brinkley

THE BRICKS:

His heavy eyelids struggle to open as the first rays of sun appear on the horizon. The dancing rays tickle his face and whisper to him, Get up, come play and enjoy this glorious day. Shaking out his ash-grey feathers, he hobbles over to the pond, pushing dewy reeds aside as he makes his journey. Maneuvering down the incline of slippery mud leading to the water, he stoops down to sip the crisp, cool liquid. Crickets chirp and sing. One lonely, shining drop of water trickles down his midnight-black beak and forms a ripple in his reflection below, that evil and incapable thing that hinders his life at the Pond.

His disorderly, ugly grey feathers are the laughingstock of the Pond residents. Ever since the Hatching, it has been this characteristic that sets him apart from the other little ducklings. The ducks, with their exquisite
Bethany 2
show of white feathers, quack and cackle at his dull plumage in comparison. Even his adoptive mother eyes his features with distaste, confused. How could I, a noble creature, produce that, that…. thing! He knows of her feelings. He takes their criticism and molds it into a hope; a hope that grows stronger in the kiln of is heart as years pass. He vows to groom his horrid feathers every day- being sure to rid them of any small, legged and plagued insects---hoping and praying that they, too, will become beautiful in the future.

His legs, what a sight to behold! Too long for his body, they provide him with an awkward stride. These legs send the frogs into fits of hysterical laughter. Croaking and Ribbiting, they fight to breathe through their uncontrollable glee. Finally done, they think a wicked thought. What fun it would be just to trip those gawky legs of his. And they do, aiming their tongues at his legs they fire, a pink blur connecting with and tripping the ugly thing. How embarrassing for him, how cruel of the frogs. He keeps on walking, thinking to himself, I will forgive those froggy fools. Someday, my legs will be strong and the envy of all who live here.

Feeding times at the Pond, above all, were the most stressful experiences. Too young to receive bread from the fleshlings, the youthful birds gather around the pond to compete for algae and fish in the deep waters. An inexperienced fisherman, our little friend almost always catches a growling stomach instead of fresh fish. Anything he does catch is stolen in the blink of an eye or the turn of his little head. Just wait, the baby says, when I am older I will be generous and kind and share my overwhelming offerings of bread.
These are the resolutions of our somber character.
HIS WALL
“That one, that one there. Look!” exclaimed Benny, ecstatically pointing to the largest most elegant swan.
The children stared in awe at the magnificent bird before them. His plumage sparkled brilliant white in the sunlight and blinded their eyes with its groomed glory. As the swan padded softly towards them they admired his legs, long, strong-looking things allowing him to approach them swiftly on land or water.
“Mine! Its my turn to feed him!” Jill pleaded.
“No, let me,” Benny cried.


They fought over the last of the bread, both eager to feed the swan standing before them, stretching his wings patiently.


Do you remember this swan? He is the ugly duckling, the poor little one. Now fluffy white satin adorns his wings outstretched, and a great beast upon the Pond is he. Respected and revered by amphibian, bird, and human alike, he lives a peaceful life. All because he had confidence in himself and harvested the seed of hope, a seed that has blossomed into a promising future.