If I were brave. Like a lion, or, at least like my cat, who is very brave for she can climb tall trees and jump off walls and go out in the dark. Well, if I were brave, like a warrior, or, at least like my grandmother, who fought in the freedom struggle and even went to jail (without crying). If I were brave, as brave as my big sister who can cut things with a sharp knife and kick bullies who bully me. If I were brave. If only I were brave.
But I’m not, see. I seem to be so scared of everything that others tease me and call me a scaredy-cat. But that’s not true. I’m scareder than a cat, who as you know, is very brave. If only I were brave, like a lion, or at least, like my cat.
Paro Anand, If I Were Brave from I’m Not Butter Chicken, You Can’t Order Me!
I also liked the author’s explanation at the end of the story.
Where this story came from
I’ve always found the underdog fascinating and fun. Perhaps because I’ve often been one myself. There’s so little expected from the imperfect underdog that everything is exciting when it happens. This story comes from my young nephew who wears his fear bravely. Like a badge of honour. He finds no shame in admitting that he’s too frightened to do certain things like going to the loo alone at night, or sometimes even in the morning. So then, when he does something wonderfully brave like tackling a soccer player twice his size, there’s a sparkling story in it.