Showing posts with label daughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daughter. Show all posts

Saturday, December 3, 2011

One Red Bug


One little red bug said,
"I need a hug.
I'm very lonely and very needing love."

 Two little yellow bugs in the yard
pulling a string out of a plug.
Little red bug said,
"I need a hug."
Little yellow bugs said,
"Go away.
Come again some other day.
We're too busy unplugging the yard today."
Three little pink bugs sitting in a tree.
Little red bug said,
"I need a hug."
Little pink bug said,
"Go away.
I'm too busy today."
Four little blue bugs sat upon a chair,
Crawling under the cushion,
 And having fun to fair.
Red bug said,
"I need a hug."
The blue bugs said,
"We can't play very long.  Please go away.
We might give you a hug some other day."

Five little purple bugs went to a circus.
Red bug said,
"I need a hug."
"We're too much having fun.
Please come and have fun with us another day."
Six orange bugs eating on a leaf.
Red bug said,
"I need a hug."
Orange bugs say,
"We're eating today.
We can't hug you right now."

So red bug went and stayed on the tree, crying,
"I need a hug.
I need a friend, please."

One red bug came and said,
"I'm lonely too and I need a hug.
I'll only give you a hug if you give me a hug."
So the other red bug said,
"I'll give you a hug."
And so he did.

And then he had a friend.
And the other red bug had a friend too.

The end.


 By Kyrie (1996? I just found it in a box we unpacked)



Saturday, September 4, 2010

Hope for the future

Originally published August 13, 2007

When we moved to Omaha from St. Peters three years ago, my girl had limited exposure to races other than her own. Not nonexistent, but never before had she felt that she was in a minority group. Her first couple of weeks in the new school were a little scary for her. What I learned from talking (but mostly listening) with her was that it was not the skin color that scared her, but the different way that people behaved around her: confrontational, as if daring her to be racist, all the while seemingly ignorant of just how racist that behavior is in and of itself.

But she adjusted. Last year she introduced us to her first boyfriend. If my little girl has to grow up and start dating, I could not have asked her to make a better choice. He was (and is) interesting, bright, hard-working, respectful, and creative, and the color of dark chocolate.

Unfortunately, like most teenage romances, it didn't last long, and I won't get into blaming anyone for it. I knew it would probably happen, and yes it did break her heart. But I wouldn't have wanted her to miss the experience of her first boyfriend, and I am so glad to have spent some time with him myself. I am encouraged that she will make good life choices.

I have read, from Joseph Campbell, that no one ever leaves behind the religion of their childhood. I believe that the prejudices that our parents imprint upon our young minds are never truly left behind, either, and for much the same reason. I have done my best to leave both -- I would never consider myself Baptist now, nor any brand of Christian, and I have come to hate the close-minded attitudes of the generation that raised me.

But there's a small spot, in the back of my mind, that remains a refuge for all the superstition, all the prejudice, that my parents branded upon me. They sit in their shadowy cage, knowing that I will never open the lock, yet always ready to try the bars just the same. I am gratified, however, to have refused to let it imprint upon my children. It dies with me.

The future is taking a lot longer to get here than it should, but I am confident that it will arrive.


Update September 4, 2010

I like to dust this off and read it once in a while...especially when my daughter enters a new relationship. I still believe that she will make good choices without being reminded every morning, but the protective instinct never goes away. Sometimes it needs to be caged up too.

I also need the reminder that things are getting better. In our current political climate, it's easy to forget.