“Dad?” I ran unsteadily to my father, tugging slightly on his sleeve. “Dad, why do plants grow?”

It was a Sunday morning, with heavy oppressive grey clouds hanging low in the sky.

I was walking along an empty country road, my father trudging ahead. A beautiful flower springing out of a hedge had piqued my interest.

My father pulled his arm out of my reach and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Because they have to. And the flower is a Violet.”

He gave a wry grin, “Like you.”

He started to walk ahead, but I quickly followed him, unsatisfied.

“Why, why do they have to grow?” I asked, the childish curiosity of a six year old mind bubbling to the surface.

“They just have to. All things do.” My father twisted away from me, and stared into the distant horizon.

I tried to follow his gaze, but saw nothing there.

“Do I have to grow up too?” I asked quietly, somewhat scared at what his answer may be.

“Yes. Everyone has to,” my father replied softly, not even turning to scrutinise my stunned expression.

Instead he merely started forward again at a rapid speed.

Nervously I studied the violet for one last time. Then I reluctantly chased after my father, alarmed by his sudden haste and the distance between us.

****

Eight years later...

“Did you hear what happened?”

“With Violet May?”

“I heard she was crying. In Miss Huckin’s office.”

“Why? Because of what happened last Saturday?

“That’s what I heard. But apparently, that’s not all.”

“No! What else?”

****

Don’t listen to what others say, they told me. Just drown the noise out. Pay no attention.

How can I pay no attention when they were practically screaming next to me?

I slumped my head down on my desk, silently cursing my school peers and their excessive need to gossip about the latest scandal.

Of course I admitted grudgingly, if they weren’t talking about me, I would probably be sitting there with them.

Not that they would pay me much attention.

The shrinking violet I am, I doubt half of them even know who I am.

...Well, I suppose they do now.

Everyone knows now.

Everyone has heard it.

Everyone knows that Violet May’s father is a criminal.

And I thought that was all they knew.

I guess I was wrong.

I choked back my sob, and tried to stop my shoulders from shaking.

Don’t let them see you cry. Don’t show weakness. Don’t let them see it get to you.

That’s what my mother told me this morning.

That along with other thing that terrified me: 'You need to grow up.’

There was something so chilling about that sentence. Something so final.

How can someone just grow up; just evolve through millions of experiences and lessons that bring maturity, all in a week.

It’s impossible.

Unfortunately not to my mother.

“You need to grow up,” she dictated. “Help me more around the house, now your father isn’t going to to be around. You need to take more responsibility.

“And you need to look after your younger brother.

“We’ll have to cut down on lots of luxuries too.

“No more violin lessons.”

It was too much, all too fast.

I always thought growing up meant struggling your way through puberty, making mistakes and learning from them.

Instead I have to make the conversion from confused teenager to responsible adult overnight.

I was never so happy to hear the lesson bell go.

****

It was later that evening, as I was tucking my younger brother Simon into bed that I had to confront the issue of growing up again.

My brother turned to me, his usually mischievous eyes now uncharacteristically serious.

“Violet,” he whispered. “Mum told you earlier that you would have to grow up.”

Neither my mother or I had realised that he had heard that heated discussion.

“Do I have to grow up too?” he questioned, his lower lip quivering slightly.

My mind reeled with the impact of his question.

And just like that I was back eight years ago, asking my father exactly the same question, naively trusting in whatever he did. I remembered his answer:

“Yes, everything has to.

“Violet.”

Instantly I had returned to reality, sitting on my brother’s bed and he was looking at me with the same unwavering faith.

“No,” I murmured gently. “Grow up whenever you want.”

I kissed his forehead and walked out, turning off his light.

***

Saturday morning came and I woke up early, feeling undisputedly unsettled.

Defeated, I clambered out of bed, dressed and left the house.

I considered leaving a message for my mother to explain my absence, but quickly decided that it would most likely go unnoticed.

I had been walking for 20 minutes before I recognised the route I had taken.

It was the same father and I used to take; the same one where I had first thought about why people grow.

I carried on, and sure enough, I reached a familiar hedge.

At the bottom there was another violet.

This one was much more fragile, I noticed; seemingly slumped and shrinking away from the sunlight.

It was very different from the strong, proud one from before.

A bit like me, I thought.

Back then I had been a strong boisterous child, knowing who I was.

But today, I was as delicate and as unsure as the flower before me.

It was then that I noticed a small flimsy bud protruding from the stem. Ahhh I considered to myself.

So maybe there is hope.

If even a shrinking violet has potential to grow, surely I must.

I walked away then, unnaturally happy, whistling a tuneless song.

Maybe I do need to grow.

But I won’t rush.

You can’t rush growth.

Maybe I am like that flower.

We’re both uncertain about what path we’re going to take.

We’ll get there eventually.

We’re both shrinking violets.