Black Sheep of the Family

short story

We've all heard the expression - and some of us have lived the life as well. But what would it take to make someone the literal "black sheep" of the family?

This is one of my (rare) children's stories.

nce upon a time there was a pretty little lamb called Frances who lived with her family in a green field by a hill.

Frances was part of a big family of white woolly sheep. There were rams with white wool and big curly horns, and ewes with white wool and little horns, and other pretty little lambs just like Frances.

Frances didn’t like looking exactly like all the other sheep. She didn’t like being cute and cuddly and white.

“I’m being taken for granted,” said Frances. “No one sees who I really am. No one can see past my pretty white wool.”

So Frances decided she would do something so that people for once and for all would stop seeing her just as a cute, cuddly lamb and appreciate her for herself.

So she started to think.

And she thought.

And she thought harder.

All day, Frances stood in the shade of the big tree at the top of the hill, away from her family, trying to figure out a way to make everyone see her for what was inside her instead of just seeing how she looked like everyone else.

The other sheep all wondered what Frances was doing.

“She’s over there all by herself,” said her father.

“I hope she’s okay,” said her mother.

“When is Frances coming back to play?” said her brothers and sisters.

When all the pretty little lambs were ready for bed, Frances was still standing under the tree.

“Should we bring her home for bed?” said her father.

“Let’s leave her,” said her mother. “It looks like she has a lot of thinking to do.”

Soon, it started to get dark, but Frances still stood thinking under the tree at the top of the hill. After a while, she could hardly see herself. It was almost as if she had turned as black as the night sky.

“That’s it,” said Frances, happy for the first time since she had started to worry herself about how she looked, “I shall be the black sheep of the family.”

The next morning, Frances got a big bucket and put it at the bottom of the hill near the field where she lived. She filled the bucket with black paint.

“What’s wrong with Frances?” said her brothers and sisters. “When is she coming back to play with us?”

“Don’t worry,” said Frances’s mother. “She’ll come when she’s ready.”

“Just be patient and kind,” said Frances’s father.

And they all looked up to the top of the hill.

On the top of the hill was Frances. She stood for a moment looking up at the sky.

“I am not just a pretty woolly lamb,” cried Frances. “I am an individual in my own right.”

And with that —

She —

Jumped!

SPLASH!

When the paint settled, Frances’s family all came over to the foot of the hill.

And out of the bucket —

— came a very small, very wet, very black Frances. . .

. . .looking, well, sheepish.

“Well?” said Mother.

“Well?” said Father.

Frances said, in a very small voice, “I was tired of everyone seeing nothing but how cute and cuddly and woolly I was. So now I am a black sheep. No one will ever call me a pretty white lamb and take me for granted ever again.

And Mother and Father laughed, and all the lambs laughed, and everyone hugged Frances until they were covered with paint and their wool was just as black and matted as hers.

“You’re our black sheep all right,” said Frances’s father.

“Don’t ever think we take you for granted,” said Frances’s mother. “If we sometimes say you’re a pretty white lamb, don’t think that’s all we see.”

“We like you for who you are, Frances,” said her brothers and sisters.

“I’ve been very silly,” said Frances.

“Not at all,” said France’s mother. “You just reminded us of how important it is to show we appreciate each other.”

“Now, let’s have some fun!” said Frances’s father, and all the woolly sheep and lambs had a big paint fight until the meadow was as black with paint as they were.

Frances felt good, because she knew her family didn’t take her for granted after all.

And that’s a nice way to feel, isn’t it?

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