Dandelions are
weeds, unless you're a child. I'm reminded of the story in "Chicken Soup for the Gardener's Soul" by David Matz, where a father, in his effort to create the perfect lawn, is on his hands and knees, screwdriver and garbage sack in hand, attacking the "little yellow devils."
Trouble was, it was Saturday and he'd promised his 4-year-old daughter Kayla they'd go fishing. Here's how the father-daughter conversation went:
"Pickin'
flowers, Daddy?" Kayla asked.
"Yes, dear," he said, digging furiously at a tough root.
"I'll help," she offered. "I'll give some to Mommy."
"Go ahead, sweetie," he answered. "There's plenty."
An hour passed, and yellow splotches still remained.
"You said we's going fishin' today," Kayla complained.
"Yes, I know, dear," he said. "Just a little more
flower picking, okay?"
"I'll get the fish poles," Kayla announced.
He labored on, prying up one stubborn root after another.
"I found some worms under a rock, Daddy," Kayla piped up. "I put them in a cup. Are you ready?"
"Almost, honey."
More minutes dragged by.
"You picked 'nough
flowers, Daddy," Kayla insisted impatiently.
"Okay, honey, just a few more," he promised. But he couldn't stop. The compulsion to finish the job was overwhelming.
A few minutes later, a tap came on his shoulder.
"Make a wish, Daddy!" Kayla chirped.
As he turned, Kayla took a big breath, puffed, and sent a thousand baby dandelion
seeds into the air.
He picked her up and kissed her, and they headed for the fish pond.
