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Showing posts from September, 2019

Skinned Knees and Broken Hearts: Why I Love Roses

Josephine asked if I’d rather have broken bones or a broken heart , I said neither, really now, next question please. If I could, I’d avoid any and all pain, I’m not a masochist.  A broken heart is not new to me, even before I understood hurt; my heart was already in pieces. Along with skinned knees and that one time a car ran over my foot, I've always known pain. That's the legacy of an alcoholic father and an absent mother; you grow up way too fast. I was stealing flowers from my doctor's practice when a car ran over my foot. Every day on our way back home from school, kids  ran into the yard and plucked roses from the rosebush and ran off. For months I watched them, thinking about how juvenile they were acting, why couldn't they just go in and ask? One particular day, for no apparent reason, on a whim, I decided I wanted a white rose. I plucked up the courage and ran into the yard, plucked a rose, as I was running out of the yard, I collided with a sedan in the