Once, there was a tadpole who couldn’t swim very well. His tail wasn’t formed as long as some of the others, some of his brothers and sisters. They could swim very well, and they laughed when they went to Tadpole School, and they ate all their greens at dinner time, which Mumma Frog served to them a bit more than they served to him. He didn’t get to eat very much, you see, because of his tail. Everyone would look at him, and sometimes laugh, before he looked so silly, furiously wiggling back and forth in the pond waters trying to keep up with the others. But he never really could. It just wasn’t what he was born to do. But one day, he met another tadpole, who had been laughed at. He wasn’t very handsome, you see. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all, but he just wasn’t very liked. One day, our tadpole came swimming along, and saw this other one crying. He paused, wondering what to do.
“Excuse me, but why are you crying?” he asked, skeptically.
“I’m crying because there’s just something wrong with me. What is your name?” the other tadpole said.
“John,” said John.
“I’m Colin. Look, I know I look normal, and I know you’re the one with the funny tail—sorry—but I’m just hurting a lot, okay? And I don’t need a reason to hurt. I have lots of reasons to hurt, but everyone who looks at me thinks I’m okay. I’m not okay, and I know you’re not okay, so can you not hurt me, please?” Colin said this all very fast, and without much hope.
And that’s when John swam over, at his funny little pace, and sat just next to Colin.
“I understand,” he said. Colin looked up hopefully.
“You do?”
“I do,” said John.
“Good,” sighed Colin. “That’s all I really wanted, was for someone to understand.”
And in that moment, the pain seemed a little less painful.
