Monday, May 4, 2009
When I was in middle school, I heard that dandelions were edible. Being an adventurous kid, and having a partner-in-crime in my next-door neighbor, we decided to try them out. We picked an easily-accessible handful, and not knowing exactly what one should do to prepare a dandelion, we opted for pan-frying them in butter in my neighbor's kitchen. I don't remember what they tasted like - probably butter. I do remember they weren't as bad as I imagined they would be. I also remember going home and telling my mother, who freaked out. You see, I'm allergic to weeds. I had just eaten the enemy. Luckily, what I saw as a harmless (well, to those of us not vying for the perfectly green lawn), albeit odd, salad green, turned out to be just that. No throat swelling, no red bumpy rash, no sneezing fit. Luckily. I learned that day that maybe my perspective wasn't the only one to be considered.
On Sunday, Audrey came back from a walk outside with her Grammy sporting a dandelion in her hair. I love the two-year-old mentality that everything with a petal is a flower to be celebrated and tucked behind the ear. Right now, her perspective isn't tainted by the neighbor's green lawn, the local florist's definition of wearable flowers, or my fear that she'll spend her Springs miserable with my hand-me-down allergies. At some point (and for some necessary reasons) these other perspectives will sink their way into her being, but for now they float above her, unseen. For now, she is simply wearing a yellow flower in her hair. And for that, I am glad.