A Yellow Rose
I seldom write about the past.
Certainly not my past. Not that it was particularly horrific. It's
just that I would have a hard time drumming up experiences that would
lift the readers spirits in a joyful or humorous manner. We don't
want to hear about the bad times...the rough times. Those times a
normal person would as soon disengage themselves from...and
disengaging is something I excel at.
I don't know if that is a skill to be
proud or ashamed of...it is what it is, and I am who I am. With that
said – occasionally a memory from the earlier years will fight
itself into present day thoughts; appearing as a profound and
treasured moment. One such moment fell on a mothers day,
approximately 30 years ago. The day revolved around an X husband,
“Earl,” my middle son, Dillon James, and a yellow rose.
Earl, Dillon and I, stopped in for a
bite to eat at a small town café in Vale Oregon. Dillon was no more
than 4 years old. I remember exactly what my son was wearing: a
striped plaid long sleeve western shirt I had sewn, blue jeans,
little cowboy boots and a straw hat. He looked like a miniature
version of Garth Brookes – down to the pouty lips and striking blue
eyes.
Two or three other couples patronized
the café. We had received our food order when a lady selling yellow
roses made her way around the room. The men at the other tables dug
in their pockets for eight dollars in exchange for a single stemmed
yellow rose. I don't believe it mattered if the woman sitting across
from them was their mother, the mother of their children now, or one
day hoped to be. Each received a yellow rose.
The lady with the basket of roses
approached our table. She smiled at Earl and started to hand him a
rose out of her basket. He barely glanced up from his
plate...dismissing her with a wave of his hand. After-all, I wasn't
his mother. The lady glanced at me with a look that fell
somewhere between pity and embarrassment; the latter I could relate
to.
You might be surprised how little goes
unnoticed by a four year old child. Dillon, always reserved... always
thinking and often serious...I feared too serious for his age...sat
next to Earl. I could feel the wheels turning in his head as he sat
with his arms crossed, brows furrowed staring up at Earl.
Without saying a word – Dillon slid
out of the booth next to Earl and slowly walked toward a young couple
sitting at a table on the back wall. I watched the intent look on his
face as he approached them. Was he looking for the bathroom? They
stopped eating and smiled at him as he got nearer. He never said a
word. He never took his eyes off the man. He slowly reached out with
his pudgy little hand and plucked the yellow rose from between the
young couple. He hesitated for a split second – as if daring them
to refuse him this gesture. I realized what he was about to do and
started to reel him in. The young man shook his head and mouthed:
“No...let him have it. Please...” The young woman nodded in
agreement...eyes glistening in understanding. I sat down as Dillon
made his way back to our table, placed the yellow rose in front of me
and without uttering a sound, slid back into his seat.
I don't know what effect, if any, that
moment had on the others in the room. I will certainly never forget
the effect it had on me. In that moment, I was somebody's whole
world. I mattered. I mattered more than alcohol. More than drugs. I
mattered more than the next shiny buckle or the bunny attached to it.
For once, I was somebody's everything. I was worth enough for one shy
little boy to brave what must have seemed like a daunting quest
because to him, I was worthy of it.
Mom's come in all sizes, shapes and
types. Some of them have given birth to their children – some have
adopted - some fostered dozens. Some have been second moms to the neighbors children. Others
granted the title of “Auntie Grandma:” having helped raise the
child of a single mom struggling to hold it all together.
Whatever type of mom you are – I wish
that you recognize the full potential of your worth this mother's day
and that you too are blessed to be someone's entire world – worthy
of a yellow rose.
