THE UNATTRACTIVE DONKEY

Many years ago, back in the late 60s, my parents bought a motel in Virginia, a short drive far from their home in Tennessee. That motel, located on Highway 11-E, sported a beautiful kidney-shaped swimming pool. Like most properties, odd little objects often seem to transfer hands along with the real property. One of the things that came along with this particular property was a small concrete donkey that silently sat near the fenced pool area. It was not new, nor was it exactly beautiful. Someone had painted it white, which was chipping, and it had a broken ear that had been unskillfully patched. However, it was just the right size for my young daughter to sit on while pretending to have adventures, going places far beyond the swimming pool area. Time passed; I divorced and then married again. We moved far away to Florida, and had another child, a boy.

On my father's last trip to our home in Florida, December of 1976, his traveling companion for the long road trip was the little concrete donkey. To be quite honest, I was touched by his thoughtfulness, but wasn't exactly thrilled to have this somewhat unattractive object in my yard. However, it was important to my beloved father that his granddaughter and grandson have it.

Less than a year later, my father passed away. When we got back from the funeral in Tennessee, there sat the donkey, seeming to wait for our return. A few months later, we bought another house, one in a little more upscale neighborhood. At first, I sort of hid the donkey in the back yard, but after some soul searching, I finally decided to place it out front so that I'd be reminded of my wonderful father more often. I positioned it next to a brick planter, a place where it wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. So, it stoically sat there on the lush carpet of green grass, watching the seasons come and go while waiting patiently for children to mount its concrete back for a ride to any place in their imagination.

Time marched on. We went on vacation that next year, and when we returned home, we all felt there was something odd about the front lawn, but couldn't put our finger on it at first. Then, it hit us; the donkey was gone. All these years later, I can clearly recall the feeling in my stomach, the sick feeling that the little gray animal had died. I amazed myself when I wept. I was a grown woman, and I actually shed tears at the loss of the unattractive donkey.

Evidently, some kids had stolen it as a prank while we were gone. I couldn't comprehend why, and to this very day don't understand. That little donkey hurt no one, but some misguided youths apparently thought it was funny to steal it. What they didn't know is that it was, in spite of its appearance, precious to our family.

There was a valuable lesson the little, silent donkey taught me: Something doesn't have to be beautiful on the outside to be loved, nor does it have to have monetary value. I admit I wasn't all that attached at first, but love for the little donkey grew over the years, and I think of it to this day. Sadly, my younger son never rode the donkey. It was stolen before his birth. He never got to know his grandfather, nor did he know the unattractive donkey that took his sister and brother on fantastic journeys.

Little unattractive donkey, wherever you wound up, you are missed.