Finding the inner courage within us to step into a spotlight can be a difficult task. For many of us, it can mean trying again and again. For some, it may mean accepting help from others. And for others, it can also come from an act of kindness from someone that opens the door to self-confidence.
When I was small, I gravitated to an old, worn, wooden folk guitar that belonged to my Grandpa Tom. Every time I visited my grandparents, I'd make way to the corner of their living room, where it rested against the wall. I'd lift it into my lap while I sat on the floor. I loved the gentle sounds that my beginning attempts to make music with it made. During Christmas of 1984, Grandpa Tom and Granny gifted me with my very own guitar. There it was, a tan acoustic guitar nestled in a sturdy, red velvet lined case. I began taking lessons in my hometown music store and became a fast learner under the guidance of my teacher, Jeff.
One afternoon at a lesson, Jeff handed me a paper that advertised an upcoming recital for all the music students at the center to show their talents. I was so nervous and excited at the same time. I was able to choose the piece of music to play, which was Over the Rainbow from The Wizard of Oz. I happily told my Grandpa and Granny all about it, and Grandpa especially was so delighted. A proud Irishman through and through, he adored music and I knew how proud he was to see that his granddaughter carried a love of music in her heart as he did.
Around this time, my Grandpa became sick. Much more so than my family let on as I was young and I could not understand the gravity of it. A few weeks before my recital in February, my beloved Grandpa Tom passed away. Heartbroken, his loss left me and the world around me heavy with sadness. The very idea of picking up my guitar just hurt my wounded soul. My parents, my Granny and my Grandma all tried very hard to convince me to reconsider.
During my last lesson before the recital, I had a lot of difficulty getting through my chords. Jeff, sensing my frustration, told me to put my guitar down on the rest next to my stand. He asked me what was wrong, and I broke down as tears filled my eyes, as I told him that my Grandpa passed away. I didn't think I could find any courage to play at the recital with him not there. Jeff told me that even though my Grandpa was not physically here, he still was, in the gift of the very guitar I held. He explained how that by gifting me the ability to learn about music through the guitar, he was able to share his love of music with me which was a gift that would stay with me forever.
On a cold Sunday afternoon during the end of February, we arrived at the library where the recital was to be held. Jeff met me outside the hallway where the music students all lined up in performance order. My eyes stared down at my black patent leather Mary Janes and I can recall shaking. He smiled warmly and asked me to open my hand. He reached into his suite jacket and held out a shiny opaque guitar pick. It was the guitar pick that Jeff used during our lessons that I always admired. He said it was about time that someone else used it and to go out there and try my best.
I was able to get through the song, and I can remember looking for my Granny's eyes in the audience- those shining clear beautiful blue eyes that were welling with tears and a smile. Clutching those most precious gifts both in my hands and deep within my heart, I smiled back with quiet courage. Quite like the young ballerina in author/illustrator Tessa Blackham's The Ribbon.
As our tale begins, a little ballerina is frightened to go onstage. A fellow ballerina, sensing the young ballerina's hesitance, gifts her a bright red ribbon as an act of reassurance to try to take away her obvious nervousness. Adding the ribbon to her hair, with a newfound sense of confidence, the little ballerina takes her steps onto the stage.
As time goes by, we see that this red ribbon is always kept close to the ballerina- either worn as an accompaniment on a bun in her hair; tied to her left wrist or as an adornment on her dress. As the ballerina grows up and becomes a young woman, as we see through the lovely, warm illustrations, the ribbon begins to signify the means of connection of one stage of life to the next.
One day, the ribbon gets loose from her hair as the ballerina is making her way to her next performance. As she is getting ready to go on to the stage, she notices that the ribbon is gone. Tears immediately stream down her face as she desperately looks everywhere for the ribbon. The tears slowly give way, revealing to us the eyes of quiet inner reflection. Her eyes then turn into a look of determination, and our brave ballerina walks confidently towards the stage. The question arises- does the ballerina really need to have the ribbon anymore? Does the courage that the ribbon represented to the young ballerina actually has resided inside her all along?
Tessa Blackham's The Ribbon is a beautifully poignant tale of growing- Growing up while simultaneously growing confidence in oneself. Without many words, the stunning illustrations strongly reiterate how a simple act of kindness, just as the one from my guitar teacher all those years ago, can stay with you for years to come. The Ribbon is truly a classic story that I know will be shared with generations to come.
The Ribbon
Written & Illustrated by Tessa Blackham
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers-an imprint of Simon & Schuster (2026)
For Ages 4 to 8
Retails for $19.99 (Hardcover)