Circumstantial Pomp

It was a long shot from the start. Me graduating. Sure, I had lots of support, ripe with pom pom festooned cheerleaders in the background. But as always happens with school, it was ultimately up to me. Oooph! My parents claimed they believed in me, lauding me with praise and encouragement. They were genuinely supportive and ran through the lessons with me when we were home together. Still, I had my doubts. There were far more hours, when left to my own devices, I drew myself into a tight, skeptical circle. And got good and comfy there.

Anxiety was my new best friend as the material careening madly around in my head, like badly driven bumper cars with 8 year olds at the wheel, destined to only cause harm and confusion; without intention to actually succeed at the game. Even as I closed my eyes at night, I could hear my instructor calling me out on directions not followed; skills not mastered. It was during a particularly bad slump that I at least perfected the fine art of self-deprecation. To say that my confidence was eroding was an understatement. Perhaps others were struggling too, but I only visualized one student left behind. Me. Clearly something had to change.

The pivotal moment presented itself when I caught wind of a fellow student‘s performance. It’s not that things came easily to this chap; in fact quite the opposite. He’d appear to be trying, but was easily sidetracked; the instructor called him on it time and again. The class would watch in mock horror, secretly comforted by the fact that no matter how shoddy our performance, there was another classmate obviously in worse shape. Inspired, we all bonded together in a time-honored “us against them” mentality, determined to make the grade. No matter the cost, we would ALL graduate.

But our do-or-die team oath was abruptly shattered when our classmate was inexplicably yanked from school by his dad. Shocking and dispiriting for all and not the LEAST bit character building him; we all felt horribly. A remorseful howl in his honor was proposed, but we refrained in deference to the teacher. Later, the word leaked out: “our class was distracting him; getting him all worked up. He was unable to make satisfactory progress." He must have felt like a failure.

This got my attention quick. I had NO interest in being a failure. I had too many people expecting a sheepskin from me. I had to regroup. I had to re-motivate. I had to prove to all, but especially myself that this was not time nor money wasted. I would be worthy of a graduation fit for a king, not for a dog. I was ready to embrace my future with optimism and smarts. Let me at this final exam, baby. I’m ready. (And then went home and begged my family to prep with me. I was, after all, desperate.)

When the Day of Judgment came, I was unstoppable. I passed with flying colors. Even the instructor was amazed at my last minute surge in progress. “Determination!” I shouted at her (in my head, not being one to speak up and confront). My other classmates passed too. It was a series sweep for the team. We felt good, practically panting with pride. We’d come so far. We were graduates of Canine Obedience School and we were KING.