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Andy O'Possum did not want to go to school. Even though
the moon was bright and the night clear, he didn't want to go. Even
though there were very few cars on the road that separated Andy's home
in the hollow basswood tree from the great hawthorn tree in Shaffer's woods
where all the young opossums gathered for school, he didn't want to leave.
Even though that road would probably be crawling with worms, thick,
juicy ones like nightcrawlers, which had been brought to the surface by
the evening's rain, Andy wasn't interested.
Andy just wanted to stay home in Mommy's warm pouch where
it was safe. Because Andy, to put it quite simply, was afraid.
He was afraid of what would happen once he got to the great hawthorn tree.
He was afraid of what Billy O'Possum would say when Billy discovered Andy's
great secret. He was afraid what all the other little opossums would
say. And he was especially afraid of what Mrs. Bare Tail would say.
She had such a sharp tongue!
It was her fault he was facing this crisis. Why had
she assigned a stupid speech in the first place. Opossums didn't
need to learn speaking skills. They needed to learn how to survive.
And surviving was what Andy was trying to do when he told
Mrs. Bare Tail that he couldn't give the speech that first night, nor the
next, nor the next, until now he was the only opossum left. His strategy
of putting off the speech had bought him some time to deal with his secret
problem. But it also had bought him a different type of problem:
competition. He remembered quite clearly how, speech after speech,
he had watched the other small opossums scuttle up to the "speaking" branch,
hang upside down from their tails, and deliver good, informative speeches.
Little Susie O'Possum's had been on the different ways to preserve worms.
And Tommy's had been an excellent explanation of how to avoid cars
"Look both ways," he had said, "before you venture out onto the road."
How had he known that? Andy wondered. Where had he learned that word,
venture?
And then there was Billy's speech. It was, no doubt
about it, the best of them all. He talked about how difficult it
had been leaving his mother's pouch for the first time, how he had learned
to climb trees, and finally how he had learned how to hang by his tail.
He gave explicit instructions. And it was funny! Boy, was it
funny to watch him imitate his first failed attempts at tail-hanging.
Andy almost split a gut laughing because it was so true, so very, very
true.
Too true. For you see, that was Andy's little secret.
He hadn't yet mastered the art of tail-hanging. Oh, he could kind
of do it. But only for about 5 seconds. Then he would drop
to the ground with a thud, a very painful thud. More painful than
hitting the ground, however, was the thought that Andy would hit that ground
in front of a dozen pairs of little opossum eyes, all of which had succeeded
in hanging from the tree. And it wasn't just their eyes he was worried
about, but their mouths. Especially Billy's.
So here he was now, with no nights left to put off and with
a bigger burden than ever. Not only would the others realize Andy
couldn't hang by his tail, they'd realize he wasn't a very good speaker
besides.
Well, that just couldn't happen. And Andy had a new
plan.
"Andy," his mother said sternly, "get a move on. You're
not the world's fastest animal, you know. School starts in 45 minutes
and you've got an acre to cover."
"Momma," Andy said, "I don't feel so good tonight.
I think I caught something from that rain. I think I'll just spend
the night in your pouch so I can recuperate." Andy figured using
that word 'recuperate' would impress his mother that he was learning so
much at school maybe he didn't really need to go tonight.
Momma was horrified. "My pouch? Andy, if you
climbed back in there now, I'd be stretched from here to--" she tried to
think of some place far away, "--to the creek."
Andy shuddered. The creek was a scary place, almost
as scary as school was tonight.
Then she got quiet and looked at him quizzically. She
cocked her head. "What's the matter, Andy?"
And suddenly Andy could hold back the tears no more.
They gushed forth as he told her his fear. "I'm just a big coward,"
Andy sobbed.
"You're no coward," Mrs. O'Possum said strongly. "You're
an opossum and opossums know how to deal with danger." She wrapped
and unwrapped her tail around a mulberry bush. She was thinking.
"Andy," she said at last. "Do you even have a speech ready?"
"Oh, yes," he said. "I'm going to talk about how to
play dead." He puffed his chest up a bit. "I'm really good
at playing dead."
"That you are," she said, remembering how many times he had
been "dead" when she was calling for him to come home, to do his chores.
"Okay, then my second question is, Do you have to hang to give the speech?"
Andy nodded solemnly. "Oh, yes. That was Mrs.
Bare Tail's strict order."
Andy's mother snorted. "I'd like to see her hang for
more that two seconds."
Andy and his mother both burst into laughter. The thought
of Mrs. Bare Tail, who the kids had nicknamed -- privately, of course --
Mrs. Big Bottom, hanging at all was almost as funny as Billy's speech.
Andy's mother patted him on the rump. "You aren't so
big as Mrs. Bare Tail. And you're much stronger. And you are,
in case you've forgotten, an O'Possum. Remember, opossums don't run
from problems--"
"They're too slow," Andy interrupted.
"No. Too smart. O'Possums always have a good
idea." Suddenly her tail slapped flat against the ground. "You
should just go, climb that tree, and hang up there as long as you can,
give your speech as fast as you can, and see what happens. Trust
your instincts. Something will work out...it always does."
And that was what was in Andy's mind as he lumbered across
the field. Unfortunately, the little pep talk had eaten up ten precious
minutes of his time and he was lumbering as fast as he could to get there
on time.
When he crossed the road, the worms were everywhere.
Andy ached with desire to reach down and scoop up a few but he just didn't
have time. He checked the moon: well, maybe he could afford a few
seconds. He scooped up two of them. "I'll eat 'em as I go,"
he said just before stuffing one into his mouth.
He entered the woods and followed the trail to the old hawthorn
tree. There they were, all of them, waiting. Mrs. Bare Tail
was looking at the moon.
"You're five minutes late," she said sternly. "Now
get up there and start your speech."
Andy scuttled up the tree. He might not have been a
great hanger, but he was definitely a good climber. He looked down,
as he moved onto the "speaking" branch, to see if Susie had noticed how
agilely he had scaled the tree. He spotted her amongst the others,
her pretty black eyes gazing at him admiringly.
He could feel his tail trembling. The time had come.
He decided he'd better just do it before he had time to think about it,
so he wrapped his tail around the branch and dropped.
Twang! He was hanging. And for the first time
in his life, it felt good. He wasn't a bit scared or tired.
He felt like he could hang there forever. Then hanging there, upsidedown,
he looked down at his audience. Twelve pairs of little eyes, one
pair of big, stern ones. He started his speech.
"Opossums, like their distant cousins, possums, have a skill
unlike other animals."
He looked at his audience. The eyes grew larger.
"When they're in danger, they just." He hesitated.
He couldn't think of what to say next. The eyes were looking at him,
staring.
"They just, they just." Nothing. He was blanking
out.
What was he to do? He hadn't anticipated this at all.
He was scared, more scared than the thought of a hanging spill ever had
given him.
He closed his eyes. Something inside of him starting
happening. Blood vessels were constricting, his pulse was un-racing.
Valves were closing. He was shutting down.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the ground just
below the hawthorn tree. Everybody was laughing loudly, especially
Billy. Mrs. Bare Tail was standing over Andy. She was putting
something on him.
Andy felt like crawling into a hole. But then he saw
what she was putting on him: a blue ribbon. It said, "Best Speech."
"Andy," she said, "that was the best demonstration speech
I have ever seen. It wasn't long, but you sure made the point."
Andy's eyes looked over the rest of the opossums. Sure
enough, they were all laughing with him, not at him. Susie's eyes
were full of adoration. She reached into her tiny little pouch and
pulled out a smashed earthworm which she gave to Andy. Andy was the
toast of the class.
As he was walking out of the woods that night, Billy walked
up next to him.
"Andy," he said. "Maybe tomorrow you and I could go
over to the creek and do some hunting. I hear there's some dead birds
over there."
Andy's eyes glistened. "You bet," he said.
And he thought, you were right, Mom. When the going
gets tough, opossums trust their instincts.
Question: Give some examples of when it's appropriate
to play possum. Give some examples when it is not.
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