Quack the Rabbit

This a heartwarming stroy I wrote about a year ago about a rabbit...named Quack. Don't ask, just read.

Quivering, I entered Garden Side Elementary School. Normally I never quiver, let alone even shake, except when I’m really cold, of course. You see, it was my first day of school, at a new school. I was that weird, new kid, that mysterious new kid all the students either greet happily or humiliate. “My name,” I’d said in front of my homeroom, “is Quack…” Guess which happened to me. I mean really, I am a bunny. That name is good for maybe a duck. Wait, maybe not. Actually, that name just all around stinks, even for a duck. I hate it!

Sure, I heard Garden Side has some pretty good teachers and all, but I also heard rumors of bad kids, bullies. The teachers are, like, oblivious to any sort of bullying going on in their classroom. They just go on with their scheduled lesson plans, without even looking to see what the commotion is. Sometimes the teachers glance back for a second, but only a glance. By glance, I mean less than a full second glance.

Sorry, I got so caught up in the conversation that I forgot to introduce myself. My name, as I am very unhappy to say, is indeed Quack. Quack the bunny. My parents must have had something wrong with them when they named me. There’s Frank, Zack, Glenn, Chris, Danny, Justin, Ryan, Luke, Vinnie, heck, even Bob. Yet, I had to be a Quack. At least I saved the worst for first. Hey, that rhymed. Anyway, my mom bought me my handy-dandy cell phone. So I forgive her of my name. She named me, anyway.

Back to me! I am, if I say so myself, one handsome-looking bunny. I love my looks more than I hate my name. I have genuine, touching eyes that just melt in your heart, like a Hershey bar in the summer sun. I have the cutest pink nose you’ll ever see. My ears are just the right size, and I’m pretty athletic. Hey, I could climb the rope at gym at my old school. I rang the bell…once. I’m average-sized, too. My doctor says I’m just the right size for my age. I am one chick, or rabbit magnet.

I like to wear this hoodie my granny got me for my eighth birthday. I’m eleven now, so obviously, it’s starting to shrink. Actually it wasn’t even my size when she bought it. It was one size down. What else? Oh yeah, I have cool, baggy pants that stretch over my sneakers, my DC’s. I’m not a skater, I just wear the stuff. It’s cool.

I have good friends, family, and I even have a girlfriend from my old school. So what’s the problem for me, Mr. Perfect, as my friend from my old school would say? I blame the name. Hey, that rhymed, too.

I was entering my first class: homeroom, where the teacher would make me say my name and a little something about myself. I hid, putting my hoodie over my head. I would fight to the death if it came to saying my name. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘I’ll lie about my name, like maybe Larry. Yeah, that’s good!’ I still didn’t want to be called on, but if push came to shove, I would say my name as Larry. The students in the class were talking so loudly, they probably wouldn’t hear me anyway. It was all good.

Suddenly, the teacher clapped some rhythm that I couldn’t quite follow. Strangely enough the children replied, repeating his musical clapping phrase thingy, and somehow, the clap made the classroom utterly silent. They were like trained dogs, reacting to your command.

“Class,” stated my teacher. “We have a new student, coming all the way from the other side of the garden. Will you came up to the front of the classroom and tell us about yourself, please.”

I hesitantly walked to the front of the room, where the chalkboard was on the wall. It was like the classic angel to demon skit. My angel side wanted me to say my name and get it over with, not even say it was Larry. So, people would accept me, even if I had the worst name ever. My demon side wanted me to argue about even going up to the class and to talk back to the teacher about doing it. My first day, and I’d be getting an all expense paid trip to the principal’s office.

Going with what I thought I should do, and what was right, I sided with my angel side. I slowly walked to the front of the room and stopped. “My name is Quack…” I mumbled.

Some wise guy in my class spoke up. “You mean, like a duck?” Everyone laughed. I felt horrible. Tears were building up in my eyes. I thought that possibly the principal’s would’ve been better than embarrassment. I sadly walked back to my seat, and things didn’t look up. I felt crumby all day.

Then lunch came. As new kid, I sat alone. Of course, I couldn’t eat. My throat was stiff. It felt like I was right in the middle of a dramatic soap opera, when something really dramatic happened. When times were at their worst, however, a peer from my class came to sit next to me.

“What Archie said was really mean,” she explained. “Besides, I like ducks.”

Moral of the Story – Be true to yourself, and be who you are and what you are. You decide your future whether you have an ingrown toenail, or, like Quack, think you have the absolute worst name ever! Don’t think what others think about you. Think for yourself.