This time of year always evokes memories of childhood, when the dandelions sprout their magical white tips, each tiny seed with the potential to bring dreams to life. Memories flood back so quickly, and I remember hopefully making wishes in the warm spring sunshine.
The innocent wishes of a child with so few cares, who still knew how to dream big. A girl who believed her life would mimic the books she carried with her in her black canvas bookbag. Who hunched over with scraped knees and plucked each snowy frond, deliberately blowing the seeds in her own front yard, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to spread the magical little weed.
I want to be an astronaut. I want to fall in love...to have 12 children...to be a cowboy...to write a book. I wish I had a puppy...a horse....a goldfish. I wish...I wish...
Eventually those childhood dreams morphed into new adult realities.
I can't be an astonaut I'm afraid of heights...I did fall in love, but we can't afford 12 children...I don't have a story to tell...no one needs cowboys in Pennsylvania...got the puppy but the goldfish died, and you can't keep a horse in the basement. I can't....I won't...
We accept these realities, because what else can we do? But we make a mental note to teach our children to reach down with chubby fingers, and deposit their dreams on tiny magical seeds that drift off into unknown worlds.
We want to tell them 'dream big my little one, dream with abandon, and hold tight to those dreams...because time will quickly march on and try to wrest them from your grasp.'