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How to produce perfect roses and perfect children
I am sure many of you laugh at my title. Good, laughter is the first ingredient to grow perfect creatures.
Laughter is not the most important ingredient it is just the first. When a parent laughs with their children or when a grower is as happy as can be in the garden. Well there is just no substitute.
In a very fancy rose garden in the Epic Balboa Park. I was interrupted twice. First a lady was all mad because her favorite roses did not have a prime location. Then a man came along and was screaming at his children to behave.I would declare that the roses did not change but I did.
Perfection is in the eye of the beholder --- yes they were still roses, but I suppose I became thistle.
Laughter takes away the anger of the world. Laughter puts rose colored glasses on our noses so we can really smell the roses.
Someone asked why I am an expert on children and roses. The answer was easy. Because I produce both.
TOTALLY OFF SUBJECT
My youngest and I had to go see the pediatrician cuz he* got some kind a weird pink eye. We hung out waiting and got in trouble for jumping on the chairs, tables and games in the child waiting room. Excuse Me!!! I can walk on chairs if I want to, maybe my boy jumping caused the problem when he nearly touched the ceiling giggling. Party poopers. But my point is that a young Military couple came out: And all we heard was cooing so we investigated. The baby was missing extremities on a full side of it's body. And as my son peered over the stroller she reached up and pinched his nose sending all of us into a belly laugh to beat all things in life.
That baby was perfect.
We do not really make perfect roses and children we just nurture and prevent obstacles.
*my son not the doc.
Are you perfect?
I am perfect, how about you
About love. My 3 year old already knows the tune; Love, Love the magical treat the more you give the more you meet.
(sorry had to break to try to get my wife out of her pajamas while walking my son -- trike riding very fast around the block) What can I do, she is Vietnamese and my folks just do that. Ooops I did not mean to suggest getting "out of" as in naked. Oh my!! That would never do for my blue haired Navy widow neighbors.
So then my turn after they came back because they can only go about five houses without being asked in to share the lovely cherry or berry pie. But me: I am rough and tumble and make folks humble. I am so mean and nasty looking that folks close both doors and dial 911. They marvel that a boy is giggling and riding next to me.
So that is the next one --- Love. How fun to think of love as all lovey dovey whooopiy pooply. It ain't. Get over it. Love is protection, love is laying your life down for another. For a papa it is walking the neighborhood acting tough so that all know to leave your babes alone, and they do get it. They also get that that love extends to others who rock on our block. Let it be a neighborhood of love.
Are we perfect love? No Chance. But we believe trying makes us perfect humans. If I try to put you in front of me and make you all a part of me, this is love.
I hope what you see here is the idea that mom's and dad's are different, they provide something different. So if you want a child to thrive do not tell each other how to treat the child. That just screws up the nature of the beast.
As far as neighbors go. Children need them. They need to know that next door is safe too. I pity the fool that cannot get the straight and make it happen.
I do not like rap. I do not like new age. But I love love.
They do not come out with halos ----- unless you look for it.
This story ends rather abruptly.
I do imagine there are how to books and shrinks and professors that can guide a parent/gardener to produce perfection. That is almost kind of funny though. It is not the rose that sees itself as perfect. It is not the child that acts perfect.
It is the gardener of life that perceives the perfection. We try so hard to fit into molds and mores and looks and tooks, that we forget. Perfection and beauty are in the eye of the beholder. It rests in the heart of the lover.
I have a have baked pottery mug from my youngest daughter, it reads "I LOVE YOU -- with all your imperfeck shuns". Some times the best is imperfect and yet that makes it so.