A Friend Indeed (Kung Fu Panda)

Tangyuan

Po was pretty sure that they could see the dampness on his fur. It was the middle of winter; how was he sweating so much in the dead of winter? How was it a hundred degrees if it was snowing? His thoughts tumbled around in his head like his brain was a frying pan that needed to be flipped. Was there a frying pan that needed to be flipped? He didn't know. Or maybe he did know, but forgot that he knew. Or maybe he forgot that he didn't know.

What he needed right now was something to focus on, something to ground himself. Maybe he should just. . . help himself to a little snack; as a reward for being good. They did have some extra bean buns in stock. Besides, it's not like they were exactly hot sellers.

"Po!" his dad called. "Are you ready?!"

There went that idea. If he started snacking now, he wouldn't be able to stop until his dad found him, and he'd rather not have to go through the whole deal again. Not when their dinner and show was about to start. Besides, eating tangyuan was part of the celebration. If he still felt hungry after serving everybody, then he could help himself. "Uh. . . Yeah!" he called back. "Totally ready!" He did not feel ready, but right then he wasn't exactly too keen on his dad knowing that.

He made his way downstairs, tripping on the fifth step down and tumbling the rest of the way. Mr. Ping winced at the noise but didn't stop cutting his celery. "Are you alright?" he called.

Po quickly pushed himself back up. "Yeah, yeah, of course." He pulled on his apron and took up his position by his dad's side. He tried to offer what he thought was a reassuring smile.

Mr. Ping saw the way his mouth stretched, and shot one of his famous 'something's not quite right' looks. "Are you nervous?"

"What? Me? Nervous?' Po said, trying to choke out a laugh. "C'mon. Me? Nah. Pffft. Of course not. I've totally got this."

"Totally," Mr Ping repeated, not believing his son in the slightest.

"Of course I'm not nervous. Why. . . why would I be nervous? Why would you think that? I'm not nervous; you're nervous."

Mr. Ping set down his chopping block to look his son squarely in the eye. "Po," he said simply.

Po offered a small, obviously uncomfortable laugh. It only lasted a few moments before his jaw set itself in a grimace. "Okay. . . okay, yeah, I'm nervous." Po admitted stiffly. "I've never been more stressed out in my entire life!" Po wheezed. "Am I gonna throw up? I might need to throw up."

"Good," Mr. Ping said.

"What?!"

"Being nervous means you're taking this seriously," Mr. Ping said. "Now that I know that you can take this seriously, I need you to take this not too seriously."

Po put his head in his paws and exhaled deeply. "Yeah, thanks, Dad. That really helps," he said, not feeling helped at all. "Why did you have to do this on my first year as a co-chef? I mean why not wait until next year, when I'm more confident."

"Would a year's worth of experience really make that much of a difference?" Mr. Ping asked lightly.

"I don't know," Po said exasperatedly. "I guess we won't really know until next year!"

"Exactly!" Mr. Ping responded.

"Wh-huh?"

Mr. Ping smiled up at his son. "Remember what I said when Tigress first visited the shop?"

"'Why did you give her a coupon for Secret Ingredient Soup?'" Po said.

"No. I said that you will never become a proper chef until you can learn to stop being afraid."