A Twisted Thanksgiving Story
I know I’ve told many of my friends that I have joined a gym here in Baton Rouge. Well, each morning around 9:00 a.m., I stroll about a mile and a half. for my daily workout. Well, today was a bit different. I must tell you first, that in order to get to the fitness center, I have to take a couple of side roads, then cross a little-used service road. Beyond that, there is a grassy area that dips down into a grassy swale, then back up, where it meets the Eastbound lanes of a busy highway. I usually walk slowly through this grass, keeping an eye on the traffic. You see, it stops about a quarter mile West, so I take advantage of the lull and cross into the wide grassy median between it and the two Westbound lanes. This is a beautiful area, as it also dips down into a semi-valley, before it, too, takes me up toward the busy street. Here, there are massive oak trees, spread far enough apart to allow them to enjoy their own space. It’s very well kept, as I’ve found most of Louisiana toe. At least, along the highways.
Today was not much different than the others. I had a great workout, though my muscles are a bit sore from the previous days. It’s been a long time since I have had a regular fitness routine.
On my way back, I passed a Tai Kwon Do school, based in a warehouse near the gym. Then, wandered between the car wash and the trailer park, before once again meeting the service road on the north side of the busy highway. Crossing it and it’s grassy swale, I once again encountered the traffic heading West on Airline Blvd. Somehow, the traffic engineers must have known guys like me would one day jay walk across that busy street, so they placed a stop light about a quarter mile down in the opposite direction, too. It didn’t take long, before I was able to cut across into the median, on my way home. You see, this median is really pretty. As I said, it has those big oaks. But, looking more closely, there is also a tiny drainage ditch, which I must jump across. It may only be about a foot wide at most, but the water saturates the banks, up about a foot or more on each side, making it a pretty darn big leap to prevent getting muddy shoes.
I was pondering my good fortune to be able to do whatever my mind decided to do in the moment, and I was enjoying the solemnity of it all. Yet, it was bordered by all those cars, zipping by in a rush to take their occupants to places where they will be forced to wait unnecessary down the line.
My reverie was broken by some still, small voice, which was incredibly soft, yet somehow it overtook the noisy scrapping of rubber against the pavement, on each side of me.
“Down here,” came the voice again.
“What? Where?” I asked, searching vainly, and not finding another soul.
“Right here, behind you, on the ground.
I must be hallucinating. The only thing there was a dandelion. There actually was nothing, or anyone, anywhere who could have drawn my attention. Okay, you all are going to think I’m nuts, but I’m telling you as it was. Just the facts.
I looked around to see if anyone was watching and finding no one, I bent down to see what was up. This is a joke, right? I thought to myself. God must be playing a trick on me. What have I done to deserve this?
I played along.
“So, now you have my attention,” I found myself muttering, with tongue in cheek, still feeling not only awkward, but a bit stupid.
“Well, I was wondering if you were acutely aware of all the things you have to be thankful for, during this time of year,” she said to me, as I bent closer.
I could see her little petals move, as if she were smiling at me. Amazingly, each yellow petal seemed to glow as she spoke. The still wet drops of dew, here and there, glistened like diamonds in the bright sunlight. She was a solitary dandelion. Just one flower. No more. Not even a neighbor to keep her company.
Somehow reading my thoughts, she quickly replied, “Oh, I don’t really need any company. The other dandelions don’t like to live here. The m[1]an from the highway department comes by too often to cut the grass. I survive, because I’m short and I always see him coming and I duck.
“But, I do get others to stop occasionally. I have a good friend, a bee. She swings by now and then, to drink of my nectar. And, a few ants always scurry up and down my stem to see what they can find. They always laugh, because they know how much they tickle me.
“Why are you telling me this,” I queried, still feeling silly about talking to a weed.
“Well, kind sir. You see, there are not many people who care for dandelions. We are despised by many a home owner. It’s really not our fault, though. We don’t have any idea where our little white fluffs will be blown. Mother Nature seems to have a plan, but you humans always seem to thwart her best efforts. Come closer. Take a really good look at me,” she implored.
Bending down on both knees and elbows, I took in all her radiance. She actually was a beautiful flower. Her green stem was the greenest ever, and adequately separated her from the color of the grass in her surroundings. I could even see the shadows between her petals, giving rise to ever brighter yellows. She was very symmetrical, in that each long petal was separated by an equally bright, yet shorter petal. She was only about six inches tall, but there was an air of confidence about her that made her seem much taller.
“I am pretty, am I not?” she finally said, somehow seeing the glint of recognition in my eyes.
“Oh, yes, you are that. And, more,” I confessed.
“I’ve been around many places, but I kind of like it here the best, so far. A part of me leaves now and then, drifting in the wind, but I always know where. My soul goes with each fluff and I send my beauty everywhere. There are those who see me and take the time to stop and listen, as you have, and those who walk on by. They are the worse, for they have no idea what they’ve missed.
“What have they missed,” I asked.
“Well, did you know that every dandelion, while it may be to some, in the wrong place at the wrong time, feels like a most precious rose? Have you ever seen a field of dandelions? It’s an awesome sight, you know. I love being a dandelion most of all.”
“Gee, I’ve never thought of it that way before,” I played along.
“You’re still skeptical, aren’t you?” She must have detected a smirk in my voice.
“Okay, you caught me,” I said. “But, come on, you are a flower and I’m human,” I continued to protest.
“Oh, that may be. But, stop and think for a moment. Have you ever felt like me? I mean, in the wrong place? At the wrong time? Has anyone ever despised you? Wished you hadn’t been born? Wanted to tear you out by the roots and displace you?”
“Well, yes,” I confessed. “I was an abused child. I’ve been married a couple of times and felt like garbage in the end. When I was in school, I felt many times, that I didn’t fit in with the right crowd. Sometimes, I say and do the wrong things to others and wish I could pull myself out by the ro[1]ots and wither and die.”
“But, it’s getting better all the time, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, with age?”
“Oh yes. Sometimes, I think man is born backwards. We should be born with all our intelligence and strengths, our morals and temperament. And, a definite plus – to be able to afford to enjoy ourselves, without a feeble old body. Then, as time goes by, revert back to becoming a slobbering idiot in diapers. Well, we sort of do that in the end anyway, but you know what I mean.”
“Stay with me here,” she urged. “Don’t go drifting off into dreamland on me. I want you to tell me what you are thankful for, now that your so-called Thanksgiving Day is close?”
“Okay. I’m grateful for my kids, my friends, my health, that I can live in a free country,” I answered quickly.
“A pat answer. But, you’re only human,” she chided. “Let me tell you that for which I’m grateful.
“I’m grateful for the sunshine and the rain. For butterflies and wind. I’m thankful for the sounds of frogs at eventide, and the music of church bells on a Sunday morning. And, for being able to look up at the night sky and see the stars and moon. I watch the days and nights pass by, wondering if anyone ever sees what I see? What I hear? What I feel? I am grateful that I can be just one single flower, radiating love in all directions, so that everyone who passes by will know that something wonderful just happened to them. That I can make humans think, even if they don’t want to sometimes. I’m so thankful that I can live anywhere I want, without fear of political or social unrest or imperfections. I’m really thankful I don’t have your problems,” she finally stated, rather pithily.
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying,” I agreed. “There is sure a lot of hate and distrust around, isn’t there? I, too, have been wondering about the reason we celebrate Thanksgiving. Will people stop and say a small prayer that day? Will they honestly know what Thanksgiving is all about? Will they remember the outcasts, who came here from a tyrannical reign, who survived the voyage, the disease, the freezing weather? Will we remember all, since then, who paid the ultimate price, fighting for our freedom to live where we live, to work where we choose, and to think what we want?”
“Now, don’t get philosophical on me,” she interrupted. “You know as well as I do, that you’re only dreaming. Chances are that only one in twenty will do anything close to what you mentioned. All I ask is that you take time to smell the dandelions. Watch the little butterflies, as they chase each other from flower to flower along your daily path. If they aren’t there, find them. Go outside this evening and see if you can find the Big Dipper and the Evening Star. And, when you breathe in the fresh night air, be thankful you don’t smell gunpowder in it.”
“Is that all you’re grateful for?” I asked, with finality.
“Yes, pretty much so. Well, maybe one more thing. I’m really grateful that I live in a place where no one steps on me.”
“Thanks for the words of kindness,” I said, rising to my feet and brushing the grass off my knees.
I began to walk away. Stopped. Then, turned and walked back to the little flower and stepped on her.
“Pulling herself together, she gasped, “Now, why did you do that?”
“That’s so you always remember to be grateful for so many other things that haven’t happened to you,” I cautioned. “Keep your eyes open and don’t trust anyone, especially humans. See you in a few days.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, preening herself.