A story about pride
Beamy and the Cheer Nobody Gave
Beamy cheers for everybody, all day, every day. Then Beamy does something brilliant and the room stays quiet. A story about noticing your own wins.
2 minutes to read aloud Β· π Happy
Beamy is the cheering one.
When Boingy got back up, Beamy cheered. When Peeky said hello to somebody new, Beamy cheered so hard that Peeky went pink and had to go and lie down. Beamy keeps a list, in Beamy's head, of everybody's small wins, especially the ones they are too shy to mention.
On Thursday, Beamy did something rather remarkable.
Beamy had been practising a thing for a month, in secret, and on Thursday Beamy did it. Properly. First go.
And the garden was empty, because everybody was at the far end doing something else.
Beamy stood there, heart going, waiting for the cheering.
Nothing.
Beamy went and found everyone, and opened Beamy's mouth to tell them, and then did not, because a small mean voice said they will think you are showing off, and Beamy put it away instead. All evening. Like a stone in a pocket.
Gladly noticed, because Gladly notices good things and notices when one is missing.
"What happened today?"
"Nothing."
"Beamy."
And it came out in a rush, all of it, the month of practising and the first go and the empty garden.
"And nobody saw," Beamy finished, and felt ridiculous.
Gladly nodded slowly. "You are the best in Candyfloss Land at noticing what everybody else did. When did you last notice one of yours?"
Beamy thought.
Beamy could not remember a single time. Not one.
"Try it," said Gladly. "Out loud. One thing you did well today."
It felt enormous and embarrassing and sort of rude.
"I did the thing I've been practising for a month," said Beamy, to the ceiling. "First go. And it was good."
And then, quietly: "I did it."
Something warm and steady arrived in Beamy's chest and stayed there, which is what pride actually is when you let it in.
Gladly cheered anyway, very loudly, for about a minute.
But the important cheer had already happened, and Beamy had done it.
