The Ugly Duckling
I once read that your favorite fairy tale is your defining myth. I grew up as “The Ugly Duckling.” Surrounded by beautiful swans, their graceful bodies gliding through crystalline waters, while I wildly flapped my stubby wings to stay afloat.
Like the mother in the story who cried, “I wish you would just go away!” my mother gave me the impression that I was intruding where I was not welcome. Her feelings were not lost on me, and I hated her for pushing me toward the cold, dark water, before teaching me how to swim.
The swans, the made it look so easy ~ flap and float, flap and float, effortless circles in cocky congruence, while I sputtered and silently sank, consistently unsuccessful.
“If only I were smart and beautiful,” I’d say. “If only my feathers were pristine white, instead of dowdy gray.” “If only my parents loved and understood me.” “If only I knew how to swim!”
One day I ran away, to look for a place where I felt I belonged. I did not know the journey would last a lifetime. I did not know that it would cost not less than everything. I did not know that learning to swim would be the greatest undertaking I would ever come to master. And in the fathomless depths of my very being, I did not know I was a swan.
Lori Beth McCray 11/29/98
