Like other mornings, Bessy was awakened by singing. While again playing a recording of a favorite song, her mother once more sang loud enough to drown out the voice coming through the two large living room speakers. Each time she belted out a song, the mother imagined she was on a stage before an adorning audience. What’s more, she believed there was still time to fulfill her dream of becoming a singer with hit songs.
Soon dressed, Bessy entered the kitchen with her school books. “You sound great, Mom,” she praised, watching for her mother to do what was usual: turn and take a bow.
“I’m not sure how well I did at the tryout,” worried Bessy.
“You did your best, didn’t you?” asked the mother without giving Bessy a chance to answer. “That’s all you needed to do. After all, you have my genes.”
Suddenly feeling nervous about seeing the list, Bessy rubbed her tummy. “I’m not that hungry.”
“All right. Grab a banana, and let’s hit the road,” said the mother.
Once through the school’s front door, Bessy hurried to the hallway bulletin board on which were the names of those selected for the choir. Not seeing her name after a quick glance, Bessy plopped her index finger next to the first name, then slowly dragged it downward. Again, she didn’t see her name. After a final scan of the names, her shoulders sunk.
Soon slouching in a classroom seat, Bessy thought about how hard it would be to tell her mother she had failed to be chosen for the choir. Doing my best didn’t work out, she reminded herself.
After leaving her desk with a stack of papers, Bessy’s teacher, Ms. Narb, let the class know she was passing back yesterday’s science test. “Overall, the scores were good, though some people need to study harder,” said Ms. Narb as she headed toward Bessy with a stern look.
Oh well, thought Bessy, used to seeing Ms. Narb’s you-can-do-better scowl. Sure enough, there was a giant C at the top of Bessy’s test.
Throughout much of the school day, Bessy struggled to pay attention. Telling her mother she wouldn’t be in the choir kept popping into her mind.
Then, during the silent reading time that wound down the school day, the classroom phone buzzed. After answering it, Ms. Narb called out. “Bessy, please go to the music room right away,” she instructed.
Bessy left the classroom hopeful. Maybe the music teacher made room for me in the choir, she privately wished.
The music teacher, Mrs. Zay, smiled warmly when Bessy appeared in her doorway. “Thanks for coming, Bessy. Please sit,” said the teacher while waving a hand toward a chair near the one she occupied.
Ready for some good news, Bessy sat, then straightened her back as she slid forward.
Mrs. Zay was cheerful. “I’m meeting with students who weren’t selected for the choir. Because I very much appreciate how much effort they showed at the tryouts, I decided to form a singing group that will meet Wednesdays after school. Unlike those in the choir, you won’t be singing in front of audiences, but you will be having fun singing the group’s favorite songs. Can I count you in?” she asked.
Bessy slid back in her seat, then thought out loud. “It would be a way to show my mother I haven’t given up on singing, but I’ll need to check with her,” she answered.
“If your mother says OK, have her sign this permission slip, then bring it here Wednesday after school,” said Mrs. Zay as she handed Bessy a paper.
After starting for the door, Bessy turned around with a question. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” said Mrs. Zay.
“My singing is barely a C grade, isn’t it?”
“If you’re asking if you’re average, I would say right now that’s so. Of course, some kids improve,” said Mrs. Zay.
“But most will still be average,” pointed out Bessy.
“Hmmm. I suppose so,” said Mrs. Zay.
“I think I’ve figured something out,” shared Bessy.
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Zay.
Bessy sighed before saying what was bugging her. “For some people—people like me—doing our best isn’t good enough. I’m a C student in everything,” she bemoaned.
Mrs. Zay had an answer Bessy didn’t expect. “Given I’m a grown-up, you might be surprised to hear I’m not a fan of saying people just need to do their best,” she revealed.
Bessy’s eyes widened.
“Hearing over and over about doing our best makes us think things have to turn out a certain way. It makes us think we have to turn out a certain way. We don’t!” continued Mrs. Zay.
“I wish my Mom felt the way you do. She doesn’t just believe trying hard will make her a radio singer. She also believes trying hard will make me one. She’s not going to be happy when I tell her doing my best didn’t get me picked for the choir,” fretted Bessy.
“Knowing that reminds me of my parents, and how I let them down,” shared Mrs. Zay.
“But you’re a music teacher who can sing,” said Bessy.
“I never had the talent needed to be the stage performer my parents wanted me to be. ‘Doing your best will pay off,’ they kept telling me. But it didn’t,” shared Mrs. Zay.
Hearing the teacher say she lacked talent helped Bessy understand her mother. “You and my mom were both told you can be stage performers. You were both told to be something too hard to be,” understood Bessy.
“Things can be different for you, Bessy,” assured Mrs. Zay.
“How?” wondered Bessy.
“You can realize that you’re not a C student in everything. I know you to be an A student in niceness,” flattered Mrs. Zay.
“Grades aren’t given for niceness,” played down Bessy.
“Don’t we grade ourselves in niceness everyday? Isn’t that the grade that matters most?” asked Mrs. Zay.
After putting away the supper dishes, Bessy found the courage to tell her mother about not being chosen for the choir. “I told you when you picked me up from school that singing practice was on Wednesdays, but I didn’t tell you something important,” she timidly admitted.
“What’s that?” asked the mother.
“The Wednesday practice group is for the kids who didn’t make the choir,” softly revealed Bessy.
“What!” blared the mother.
“The music teacher is very nice,” noted Bessy.
The mother started pacing around the kitchen table. “The Wednesday group is a consolation prize! It’s what you give to wannabe losers!” she complained.
Without intending to, Bessy then said something that upset her mother even more. “We’re going to sing along with our favorite songs, like you do,” she shared.
“You mean you’ll be doing what I do while I cook and clean. Your music teacher has insulted you and me!” fumed the mother as she marched into the living room, where she plopped on the couch. “That school has been treating you like you’re average since you began going there!” she declared.
Bessy followed her mother. “It’s not the school’s fault I’m average,” pointed out Bessy.
“You just need to keep trying things until you stumble upon your gift!” insisted the mother.
“My stomach gets queasy when I think I’m supposed to figure out what I’m really good at,” said Bessy, looking for acceptance.
The mother ignored Bessy’s concern. “Your grades haven’t been good, because I haven’t spent enough time helping you, but that’s going to change,” insisted the mother.
“It’s hard to give up on things we badly want,” understood Bessy.
“Just because I’ll always be a nobody doesn’t mean you have to be one, too,” insisted the mother as she bent forward, rested elbows on thighs and dropped head into palms to hide moistened eyes.
After sitting alongside her mother, Bessy placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Watching you be nice to people has helped me want to be nice. We’re nice people, Mom. That’s all that matters. People, like us, have found the best way to be super somebodies,” shared Bessy.
Moved by what Bessy said, the mother turned, prompting a loving mother–daughter hug.
1. Why did Bessy’s mother very much want Bessy to be chosen for the choir?
2. How did Mrs. Zay feel about telling people to do their best?
3. Why do some people want to be really good at something?
4. Why did Bessy’s mother feel put down by the school?
5. Bessy told her mother “people, like us, have found the best way to be super somebodies.” Do you agree with what Bessy said? Why or why not?