A Poppy from Boppy

     A warm spring day is a gift to the soul. Gentle warm breezes float through the newly sprouted limey green leaves making a quiet hush audible to those silent enough to hear. Sitting under the old weathered pines in a newly cleared ivy bed, I hear the squawking of those birds who feel I’m far too near their hard-worked for homes. My intention is not to disturb but to simply become one with their place. What must it be like to hear the silent movement of the moon as it passes across their bedroom window? I can imagine them feeling the air move over and around them as they snuggle down to remain warm. To be a part of the total darkness of the night is an experience of many of the animals, but not always the human. As I ponder the environment I’m seeking to adjust with my new plantings and winter plans, I hear off in the distance the not so pleasant sounds of my own children as they are fighting over the ownership of the hose.


     The first watering of the season is a time of great delight but utter dismay to the one who gets to use it second. My son has control and is not only spraying the flowers, but the trees, the ground, and the fence. After repeated warnings, ownership of the sought after tool is passed to his sister, leaving him wailing into the late afternoon setting sun. When his machinations produce no reward, he begins a search for new adventure. He finds the leaf blower, starts it and begins to blow anything that can be moved by it. It is loud and profoundly breaks the peaceful moment I had been having contemplating my own piece of the earth. Being addressed about his behavior by the entire family, further frustrated his attempts at some very boy-like fun. The leaf blower being off-limits meant that he was off again searching for something new to get involved with.


     This behavior has always been an abiding part of who my son is. From his birth, he was strong of will, mind and body. The moment of his birth he was able to raise his head and look around to begin the process of exploring his world. His little head would ‘bop’ about; hence the nickname Boppy became my pet name for him. He has always felt his world was an enormous opportunity for experimentation. This day was no different. The world of his yard was an ever-present laboratory. Another thing I have always counted on has been my son’s absolute kindness and consideration. He is thoughtful and sensitive. From the time he was a very little boy, he always would bring me flowers. They may have been weeds or long grass or perhaps some cherished blossom of a neighbor, but it was his desire to please and do something nice for me that has so touched my heart.


     After the turmoil of the hose and leaf blower, we had all had enough of his experiments for one day. My ability to feel so short-tempered in such serene surroundings amazed me. I turned to continue my restructuring of the gardens when I saw from the corner of my eye, a flash in the other bed near me. It was Boppy, of course in fast pursuit of some new excitement. The weeds were fighting back with vigor as I attempted to remove them from their cozy spot in the ivy. I heard a pained scream and looked to see my son holding his leg. He was wailing to the heavens, which is also his style! I shouted over to him,” Stop the dramatics and come here,” only to hear him crying more loudly. Dad came to his rescue to find that he actually was hurt. He had been running through dense growth and had fallen on a very sharp tree stump. His shin was torn almost to the bone. I can’t imagine feeling worse than I did for doubting his anguish; however, I learned it was possible to be taken even lower. In his hand was a freshly opened, bright orange poppy that was growing in the flowerbed he was trailblazing. He had gone to pick the flower for me. I felt about as horrible as a parent can feel. I asked him if I could help him to fix it up and he replied, “If you want too.” Of course, a mother always wants to be needed, to nurture, and to love. I took him in and sat him on the counter so I could clean him up and bandage his wound. Being the boy he is, he was very dramatic as I repaired him. He wanted a big bandage over his Band-Aids to protect him from further harm and wondered if we had enough of the wrap that he could be bandaged for school the next day as well. Once he was fixed up, he wanted to rest inside for a bit but watched as I lovingly found a container for my flower, such a precious gift from a loving son. I returned to my weeding as he rested, reflecting on the message I was just taught. He came outside eventually and came to me asking if he could cuddle with me on the couch after we had dinner. At that moment, I was so full of the love I felt for my son.


     Later as we snuggled on the couch, I thought how very much like those squawking birds I truly was. We were in our home, cuddling to keep warm, and content to just be together. I guess protecting something like that is really something to squawk about. I know as I experience more of my life as a parent, I’ll remember this day as one significant for so many reasons.














This story was written when my son was about 6. As a 15 year old, he still makes sure I get the first and last rose blooming on the fence each summer. Some of the beauty inside a person shines through them for their entire life. I am very proud of the young man he is becoming…still strong, noisy, active, exasperating, and oh so loving.