Featured post

O Porche

Dedico este conto a alguém muito especial, que um dia prometeu: «...tentarei que nunca te pareça que te tiro o rebuçado.»        ...

Thursday, 14 October 2010

When I'm big I don't want to be ...

          'OK, from the start. One, two, three...Stop! Stop! What's the matter Croaky? Why can't you keep up with the others? You're always loafing about. You know you need to practise, don't you?'
          Poor Croaky just looked down at his little feet, red with embarrassment Why didn't they understand he couldn't join the others?
          'One more time. One, two, three...'
          Everyone in the class started to sing. Well, all but one. Everyone except for Croaky...
          The teacher seemed to be losing his patience but, fortunately for Croaky, he didn't interrupt the class again.
          'Well done, class. You've done very well. See you tomorrow. Same time. Same place...Croaky, not you. Stay behind. We need to have little a chat, you and I.'
          'Goodbye Mr Gale.' Sang the nightingales cheerfully as they flew off.
          'So, Croaky...May I know why you refuse to sing with your mates?'
          Once again Croaky turned red with embarrassment. At home it was the same old story, 'Why don't you sing?' Why don't you sing?'
          'So, young birdie, what have you got to say for yourself?...Nothing?...Well, then, you won't leave until you've sung that last song. Let's start, one, two, three...'
          And to Professor Gale's surprise and that of the lizards', geckos' and all the bugs' lurking nearby, too, Croaky sang with a voice of gold.
          'But...that was fantastic! Croaky, you've got a fabulous voice. Why don't you ever sing along with the others?'
          'It's just that...Hmm...I just don't feel like it, Professor Gale.'
          'What do you mean, you don't feel like it?!? That's what we nightingales do – we sing! What else do you plan to do when you grow up?
          'I'm not sure yet, Professor Gale. I really still don't know what I want to be. I just know that I don't want to be a singer when I grow up. You see, when I sing, I can't hear the music of the wind blowing, the water flowing, the birdsong of the other nightingales and goldfinches, the song of crickets and cicadas...

- COPYRIGHT/Registado no IGAC

If you enjoyed reading this story please click g+1 and/or leave a comment.


  1. Beautiful... I can totally relate to it. Sometimes, even if one has the potential, it's better, for a change, to not follow the crowd.

    1. Thank you for your comment, Avery Banerjee. And sometimes you need to take a step back and just listen...-Paula