The Thanksgiving holiday began early in my household this year, with the arrival of my older son, daughter-in-law and their 5 month old baby brood on the Monday before Turkey Day, and ended with their departure more than a week later.
For one week, first thing, I'd do every morning is pad downstairs to visit with my granddaughter, and let me tell you, what a great way to get the day off to the right start. Hard to play the crusty annoyed curmudgeon after that. I wish I could post a picture, but such things are forbidden — social media has not won over the young the way it supposedly has. We're back to photos stealing their souls. Just as well —the blazing cuteness might sear your retinas, like staring into the noonday sun. They've been gone 24 hours, and I'm still fairly dazzled.
What did we do all day? We sang —I did quite an accurate cover of "The Gummy Bear Song" — "Oh, I'm a gummy bear/Yes, I'm a gummy bear/Oh, I'm a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky gummy bear...") even getting the slightly electronic warble in my voice (though, I admit, I tossed in a few rhyming adjectives not in the song itself —like "rummy" and "scummy." No reason the adults can't entertain themselves as well. We danced.
For one week, first thing, I'd do every morning is pad downstairs to visit with my granddaughter, and let me tell you, what a great way to get the day off to the right start. Hard to play the crusty annoyed curmudgeon after that. I wish I could post a picture, but such things are forbidden — social media has not won over the young the way it supposedly has. We're back to photos stealing their souls. Just as well —the blazing cuteness might sear your retinas, like staring into the noonday sun. They've been gone 24 hours, and I'm still fairly dazzled.
What did we do all day? We sang —I did quite an accurate cover of "The Gummy Bear Song" — "Oh, I'm a gummy bear/Yes, I'm a gummy bear/Oh, I'm a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky gummy bear...") even getting the slightly electronic warble in my voice (though, I admit, I tossed in a few rhyming adjectives not in the song itself —like "rummy" and "scummy." No reason the adults can't entertain themselves as well. We danced.
We read. We were always a book household, and many, many old books were pulled down and read. The one that sticks in my mind is "The Carrot Seed," the 1945 classic written by Ruth Krauss, with pictures by her husband, Crockett Johnson, once famous for the "Barnaby" comic strip and his book, "Harold and the Purple Crayon."
The plot of "The Carrot Seed" is simplicity itself. One the first page, an unnamed little boy —in the requisite beanie —plants a carrot seed. A parade of onlookers — his mother, father, big brother — tell him it won't come up. Still, he pulls up the weeds around the seed and sprinkles the ground with water. Nothing happens, except those who told him it wouldn't come up continue to tell him that. This affects his persistent care of the seed not at all. He weeds. He waters and then — spoiler alert — a glorious carrot, bigger than he is, shoots up. "Just as the little boy had known it would."
That's it. I don't know any young writers —or young people seized with any ambition. But it's message —keep plugging, your carrot is coming, no matter what people say —is an essential one. And not just for young people. Success waxes, and wanes, and you can reach a point where nobody but nobody knows or cares what your projects happen to be. You weed, and water, and persist. Even if the carrot never sprouts. What else can you do?
The plot of "The Carrot Seed" is simplicity itself. One the first page, an unnamed little boy —in the requisite beanie —plants a carrot seed. A parade of onlookers — his mother, father, big brother — tell him it won't come up. Still, he pulls up the weeds around the seed and sprinkles the ground with water. Nothing happens, except those who told him it wouldn't come up continue to tell him that. This affects his persistent care of the seed not at all. He weeds. He waters and then — spoiler alert — a glorious carrot, bigger than he is, shoots up. "Just as the little boy had known it would."
That's it. I don't know any young writers —or young people seized with any ambition. But it's message —keep plugging, your carrot is coming, no matter what people say —is an essential one. And not just for young people. Success waxes, and wanes, and you can reach a point where nobody but nobody knows or cares what your projects happen to be. You weed, and water, and persist. Even if the carrot never sprouts. What else can you do?
What a great analogy for parenting! Thank you.
ReplyDeleteLovely. This reminds me of Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise.” Her performance of that poem always brings smiles.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the sweet memory (my grandmother read this book to me and my sister when we were little ones) and the reminder to keep plugging away at it all.
ReplyDeleteWhat sweet visuals, Neil! I adore the idea of you singing and dancing with your granddaughter. Does my heart good.
ReplyDeleteIt was many decades after having been red "Where the wild things are" to that I was introduced to the ideas and mantras that led to Maurice Sendak to produce the story.
ReplyDeleteMr. Sendak treated kids with respect and didn't write "for kids." I didn't realize how important that was... it's still important.
There are so many good children books of old. Mike Mulligan and Maryanne, The Lorax, The Places you'll go, the little red hen... so many stories about doing what's right and true. It makes me wonder what people read to their children these days.
It is also quite obvious what wasn't read to some adults when they were children.
ReplyDeleteI read this as “it’s an existential one.” and found it worked, too.
I remember an old childhood song, "Carrots grow from carrot seeds, I planted one I'll grow it. I'll water it and pull the weeds. Carrots grow from carrot seeds."
ReplyDeleteAnd I remember that book too! thanks for the memories.
Awesome!
ReplyDeleteHope to get a grandchild someday .
You're very fortunate