Too Scared to Play

by chinelo onwualu

One night I was walking home, shoes in one hand, glasses in the other, when I got angry. Not that I don't get angry once in a while, but this time it was more of a rage than mere anger. I think if I'd had a torch I'd have happily set fire to the world and I could no longer keep it inside. I threw my glasses against a nearby wall, secretly hoping they'd smash into pieces, and I screamed.

My name is Chinelo and this is a small part of the story of my life. I don't remember my parents ever "making" me do anything I didn't want to. I had the chance to learn how to play the piano, the guitar, and even tennis, but each time I found myself too scared to face the challenge. At such times, my parents weren't ones to push their children into anything, especially if it was not directly related to academics. That is not to say they didn't care; they just never saw extracurricular activities as important as school itself. They were very traditional that way. Thus, they never encouraged me to quell my fears and take a chance, and I drifted through my childhood without any special skills outside of the classroom.

I can only suppose this was one of the reasons I became the scared little person I was for so long. For I have always wanted to be worthy of love, of intelligence, of beauty, but somehow I'd always felt something was holding me back. It was not until very recently that I discovered what it was: me.

Never one to try anything new, I found that I'd been going through life like an ostrich with its head buried in the sand. I missed participating in all manner of things because I didn't have to. Now I realize that if, as a child, I had been forced, or at the very least, encouraged to join up in things like piano lessons, volleyball tryouts, track, even the chess club, I might have grown up a stronger, more confident person, someone who realized long ago that just because you are scared is no reason to run away.

When one learns to do something well, after consistent practice and dedication, one's self gets an invaluable boost. There is no room for “selfdom,” for how can you doubt your abilities if all you have to do to prove yourself is to pick up that instrument or that ball and do it? I firmly believe that when a child is given the opportunity to learn a new skill, he or she should be encouraged, even prodded to try. I'm not condoning forcing your child to do something that they obviously hate to do; however, do not let your child run away in fear. It will only set up a pattern of selfdom. And even if your child does try, do not let him quit without fully proving himself. The worst injustice you can render a child is to allow him or her to think they are not good enough, smart enough, or talented enough to do whatever they wish.

If by now you detect a note of anger, you are not far from wrong. I am angry. I wasted so much of my life being scared, that I am disgusted. This realization hit me a few weeks ago coming back from a party. I had spent the entire night too scared to speak, too scared to dance, too scared even to think. And I had come away angry. Shoes in one hand, glasses in the other, I was enraged. For as long as I could remember, I was the wall flower sitting at one end of the room praying for someone to ask me to dance; hell, I'd gone to my prom alone because I didn't have the balls to ask anyone. I was suddenly very tired of being frightened.

After I searched through the bushes, alarming a few bunnies in the process, I found my glasses. I brushed off bits of turf and grass from the lens and I put them on. The world seemed a lot clearer now, and not just because I could see again: my life was in focus. I got off my knees and resumed my walk home.

Copyright © 2000 Chinelo Onwualu

Chinelo Onwualu is an English major at the U.S. International University in San Diego, CA. Chinelo is a native of Nigeria and has been here for the better part of a year. This article was originally written as a creative writing assignment but its message deserves a wider audience.