When I was very young, around 4 years or so, I participated in a school performance.
They gave me huge wings – butterfly wings – and I had to sing “I’m a little butterfly” to the tune of “I’m a little teapot”. I remember those wings.
I am neither a butterfly nor a teapot, and maybe I knew that even then, and that’s why I stood perfectly still, frozen with butterfly wings, silently rebelling.
I would learn later, of course, that silence is generally preferable and even demanded of me and doesn’t amount to much of a rebellion, after all.
And later still, I would learn again that what is being demanded is performance.
I’m sorry Eleanor, this was supposed to be about a butterfly.