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His Choice
Sophia, Age 12, Port Moody, BC

“Bang!” Mrs. Norrison slammed the fall musical sign-up sheet up against the bulletin board.

“Hey! It’s that stupid dumb musical again, who wants to sign up for that?” My friend Claude boasted with his friends, patting me on my shoulders. As I chuckled aloud, deep inside there was a strong urge.

As the day passed by, the thing that always caught my mind was that sheet. It was simple, just had to write Brian Anderson, but I hesitated. As I walked home, I thought it to myself but then the negatives seemed to overcome the rest.

“Hey my son, ready to throw some touch downs? Get your gear on, we’re going down to Stanley Park!” My dad was like my coach, always cheering me on. Every pass, every throw of my football was watched by my dad, Sander Anderson. He had always wished that I would become a famous football player, for his dream was to become one. His dreams were shattered as his right leg was injured in a car accident.

“I’m coming dad, just wait a sec!” I rushed to my room, got on my gear and stared into my mirror. “You’re a football player, not a singer Brian. That’s just the way it is,” I told myself.

“There’s my star! Now let’s go!” It was just me and my dad, cruising along the shore, throwing back drops and tackling. It was a superb day.

“We should come again son, this was an amazing day, don’t you think?” my dad cheered while sweat poured down his face.

“Yea sure, we’ll come again.”

The next day, I don’t know why, but I got the courage to sign up. But I didn’t dare tell anyone, especially my friends so I had to be the utmost sneaky. I showed up unprepared to the auditions, and I heard snickering.

“Look, it's Brian Anderson, what’s he doing here? He’s probably going to embarrass himself with his cracking voice!” whispers filled the air, but I marched straight up when it was my turn and looked at my music sheet.

“Memories of sunshine, shooting through the sky. I would run for the rainbow, drawn up high,” I sang, and soon it was over and all that I could see was stunned faces with jaws wide open. Then, I heard clapping, joined with cheering.

“Brian Anderson, you are officially Michael Berchrony in our play. Congratulations,” Mrs. Norrison shook my hand proudly.

“Whew,” I thought,” It’s great that this is over.” But then I remembered, how am I supposed to face my father? Now this was a problem.

When I opened my front door that day, I saw my father sitting on our sofa, looking unpleasant.

“So, you made the musical Brian. Why didn’t you tell me that you were auditioning?” he angrily questioned me.

“I don’t know. It was just all a rush you know. Dad, you know that I didn’t really want too, don’t you?” I tried to convince him, but his unblinking eyes shook me with fear.

“Okay, here’s the thing dad,” I had to say a lie, no way was I going to tell him the truth, “you see, my friends just dared me to audition; I didn’t know that I would make it. Okay? It’s no biggy dad, relax.” With these final words, I stormed up into my room.

I knew how disappointed he was in me. When my sister, Jennifer had auditioned for a play at her high school, he thundered through the house. Stomping and shouting. Why didn’t he want us to sing? Was it because mom had died during an opera? Or was it just because he thought that singing was inappropriate? I just didn’t get my dad, and furious I threw my homework across my bedroom, knocking out my lamp. Suddenly, three light taps were sounding at my door.

“Hey Brian,” and my slender sister walked in,” I heard the entire ruckus. So you made the musical, awesome.”

“But as you can see, Jenny, dad’s not too happy with me. All he wants me to do is play football, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather sing,” I confessed.

“Brian, listen to me. There was this boy that started to sing when he was two. His first words were sung in a melody, he was adorable. Later, as he grew up his voice became stronger, but whenever there was a chance for a play or musical, he would be hesitant. But you know what, I know that this boy will soon find his courage and self esteem and do what he wants to do, no matter what his father or friends say. Remember that Brian, what you want counts,” and with that, she left the room, leaving me pondering.

On the night of my big premiere, I walked into my dad’s study room.

“Dad, your dream may have been to be a famous football player, but here’s reality. I don’t want to spend my life throwing balls, I want to sing, dad. I know how hard you are trying to be both parents, but seriously, you’ve got to re think. And singing is my happiness dad, remember that.” I slipped the musical invitation down onto his desk and left. I knew I was harsh, but he had to know the truth.

It was time, and everyone had come in for the show. Backstage, I scanned through the audience, wishing to get a glimpse of my father, proudly standing there, but I was wrong; he wasn’t here.

“Everyone, please sit down. You are all in for a great surprise, because you are about to see Cornfield middle’s first time ever, ‘The Little Blue Boy!”

The curtains rose, and I stepped out onto the stage. My body was trembling, but I took three large breaths and calmed down. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. And there I saw my father holding hands with Jenny, smiling like he had never had before. And with this powerful cheer I let my heart win over my thoughts and soon, the auditorium was filled with music.

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