Stop and Smell the Roses but Be Wary of the Thorns

Heather E. Sedlock I remember the first time I heard that phrase. My mother was attempting to explain to me why I could not always be allowed to stop when we were on our way to something. Say, while crossing the street in the middle of a busy intersection. I would eagerly cross the street with her, my hand in hers, racing to get across before those lights change and cars come rushing at us. Mommy did not like it when the cars came at us. That was okay because I did not like some things too; I understood that much. But I did not understand why she did not like the cars to come at us. One particular, fine, sun-shiny day, we were crossing the busy street again (I do not remember where this was or where we were going however), and I stopped to stare up at the…

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Just Passing Through

Christa Dahlstrom hyperlexicon.blogspot.com If you spotted my six-year-old son on the playground or at recess, he wouldn’t stand out from the other kids. Like most boys this age, he loves playing any made-up game that involves running, shouting, fighting bad guys, fighting robots, or fighting bad guy-robots. If you were to watch him, you might even be impressed at the way he’s able to invent elaborate imaginative play scenarios and enlist other kids — kids he’s never even met — to join in the story. “A born leader,” you might think. “What an imagination.” You might also be impressed by his sophisticated vocabulary, peppered with “suddenly” and “meanwhile” and “actually” and maybe an occasional “shall” substituted for “will” for extra flair. “Smart kid. Polite, too,” you think, as you watch him introduce himself to kids and adults and request their names with an Emily Post-ian correctness. But if you hung…