Perspective

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes when unwanted things happen, it is because you have things you want. Doesn't that make those "unwanted" things "wanted"?

Submitted: January 31, 2014

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Submitted: January 31, 2014

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My hair tries to imitate the dancing grass as the warm breeze blows over my face. The sounds of children laughing, the very ones I call my own, provide an ambient background to meaningful, yet silly conversation between mine and the one that is mine. The smell of hickory smoke complements the taste of the crimson wine. One child, smaller than the others, requests assistance to cross the towering monkey bars. I eagerly jump at the opportunity and make my way across the landscape. As the lush green grass tickles bare feet unaccustomed to such texture, déjà vu sets in.

A familiar sequence of events blur through my mind. At this very spot I proudly hoisted my youngest daughter upwards to what must have been one thousand feet in her eyes. She felt weightless as she quickly steamed across those polished blue bars. She was so proud at the finish, taunting her siblings because of her agility and quickness. She was proud, but not too proud. She still realized that she would need and want my help to complete the task once again. As I began to hear chants of hunger, I transversed my previous path until the soft grass turned to hard concrete. It was there that I realized my smiling wife had been threatened by small patches of dirt that would surely soil her white socks had she tried to make the same journey. Feeling apologetic for having left her behind, I lifted her onto my back and made my way towards the hissing meat that lie motionless above the fire. After providing a soft landing for my rider, I announced that dinner would begin soon. While tidying up and preparing our feast for the transit indoors, I realized that the children had slipped indoors without first taking their dirty shoes off. Surely it would take an hour to clean up the mess that clung to our carpet, but I was glad. I was glad that my children have legs for running and shoes to wear. I was glad that they are carefree because they are blessed enough to have food and a loving family. I was glad because should my wife and I tackle this task together, I may get the opportunity to stare into the eyes of the one I love while carrying out this otherwise daunting task.

I knew that the carpet would get soiled. This dream has accompanied me through many slumbers and the ending is just the same, as if the dream were being read from a book. As always, I realized what the outcome would be as soon as my feet touched the tickling grass, as if the tingling were a fountain of knowledge flowing into my body. Even though I know the outcome, I won't ever dare do anything to change it. Had my carpet not been soiled, it may have been a very different dream.

I awake to the calm quiet of a motionless room. The calendar on the otherwise bare wall marks twenty four days until I journey back to the place I call home. If I find myself removing dirty shoe prints from the carpet upon returning home, it would be blasphemy to say anything other than "I'm living the dream."


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