Teach Your Children Well – Teach Them Detail

“Look for the smallest of things,” I used to tell my daughter as we’d wander parks and wood.  “Look for the littlest things – because then you’ll never miss the big ones.”

How true as we go through life, looking for those big wonders – and missing all the smaller pleasures of life . . .

a child’s smile.  A clump of flowers growing as weeds in the crack between a building and sidewalk street.  A tiny ant making his way though that forest of weeds.  A gnat landing on a petal.  The pollen tickling the gnat  . . .

Look for the smallest things.

That way: you never miss the big ones.

I remember seeing a patch of dandelion growing around a sign post, stuck in a cobblestone street.

I wonder if anyone else noticed that thing; that clump of beauty amidst the rocks and stone.

I remember seeing the beauty of a child’s smile – looking at me.  And more importantly: I remember seeing the beauty of that’s child love for ME! (and US!) – something which set us down a totally different road than the one we’d been on (while wondering: had it?  Or had we been on that road all along – and this child’s smile and loving me simply a signpost along the way?  Pointing, saying ‘free choice’ – choose – and taking a different road.  Yes; I know that now.)

I remember being . . . trapped.  Images come to mind (was I not paying any attention here?) – concrete confines; gray shadows rising into white, and below me . . .

ants playing, scurrying along their way.

And I watched them for hours.

The littlest things: sometimes that’s all you’ve got; the littlest things – all there is in the world around you – the little things – from the long sought after soft scent of some flowers wafting across your nose (in the stench of some city, choked and clogged with exhaust fumes) . . . a sparrow, darting along far above some highways; interstates . . .

I hate running over some butterflies.  Others . . . don’t bother me so much.

I guess it depends upon how I’m looking at their beauty: whether they are simple lives – or something special – or just another bug on the road smacking into my own windshield . . .

People are often like that: those fragile butterflies fluttering around . . . aimlessly, like leaves in the breeze . . .

How many of them have you run over with your own ‘car’ of achievement and desire?  I wonder sometimes . . .

The littlest things . . . can have an affect which last a lifetime – and beyond, I feel (and KNOW this thing!).

That hard word: I remember that one; setting me off on an entirely different journey; a totally different path . . .

That scorned glance: setting me off on another path; somewhere else entirely . . . (God!  That one hurt so friggin’ much, my man!)

“Down,” she said, “go further down.” And I looked at this one I loved as I scrolled across the screen . . . tipping my head back and wishing . . . that I could kiss her, and she me . . . we were co-workers, in love; her married, me too . . . and we didn’t do anything . . .

But we both wanted to.  I could feel it in my heart; knew it in her words. .  .

Sometimes we turn down the littlest things, knowing that they can become bigger: fear lays in there – what will happen, what will I do . . . what can become of this . . .

and you lay your fear down, letting it turn into regret . . .

Love gone.  Loves lost.

All over little things.

So teach your child well.  Teach YOURSELF this thing: this “looking for the littlest thing”.  You will find it serves you well; you will discover all the hidden joys in life . . .

that wisp of hair wafting into the breeze . . . off some child’s head; glowing in the sunlight . . .

The laughter of children in a far away park . . .

The glimmer of a star shining through the trees .  . .

A beetle buzzing nearby . . .

A blade of grass, trembling in the wind . . .

The ant that walks upon it.

and know:

That’s me there; looking at you; looking back

at this big ol’ world of ours.

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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