When I was in the first grade, I went to an elementary school called Brookside elementary. Everyday, I walked to and from school. This is would be a new concept to my children. They have never walked to school a day in their life. Truth be told, I loved that walk. To get to school, I had to cross a small foot bridge that crossed Plaster Creek. Then, I would take the long narrow sidewalk across a wide open field and up a hill to the school. I walked alone. I must have preferred it that way. In my memories, I cannot recall one person walking with me. I would stop every day and look down at the creek from the bridge. It was especially beautiful during the winter when it was frozen.
One day, I remember heading home and discovering that the once green field now had what seemed like millions of little yellow specks. It was too much for a distractable child like me to ignore. I lazily wandered around the field collecting the beautiful yellow "flowers". I shoved them in my bookbag, my Holly Hobby lunch box and into all my pockets. I daydreamed as I went about my gathering. I had a crush on a young boy named Blake. In my daydream, he was presenting me with flowers. In reality, Blake was a typical boy who really didn't pay much attention to girls just yet.
After I had all the dandelions I could carry, I continued on home. When I got in the front door, my mother was agitated with me for taking so long to get home. I showed her all my flowers.
She said, "Lisa, those aren't flowers! They are weeds! Where did you get them from?"
In a flicker of a moment, reality meshed with the daydream, "Blake picked them for me!" Then just as quickly, I knew it was a lie. I felt bad. But didn't tell.
We got as many containers as we could and I set my flowers here and there around my room.
As lay in bed that night, reality haunted me. They weren't flowers...they were weeds. And as much I wanted the dandelions to be from Blake...he never did give me any and he probably never would.
When I first see dandelions each season, I am reminded of this time.
I still think those weeds are pretty in their own way... the flowers of childhood.
No comments:
Post a Comment