Chirldren, Tops and Postage Stamps.
Please forgive my nearsighted tugboat complex.
It has a tendancy to surface in the evenings. I know full well that your experiences are yours, and Aeliza's are hers. Some questions don't want answers, but i cant help but reach my grubby little fingers for the marionette strings.
All the same, when i went off to college my mother couldn't be there. I was alright, i'd been on my own a while, but i came with a backpack of alaska clothes, smelling of fish, and a hardshell carry-on of books. My Loving mother wanted to be a part of this part of my life, and i was thankful for that, so she spent 17 euro worth of stamps to send two 3 euro towels. They were sea-foam-green and sent with love, but no note. We both knew what they were and I smiled.
Maybe I've spent too much time doing birthday-party somersaults with my earth-friendly balloon-town school, but i believe that the kind of energy put into something has an impact in it's result. I've made Seventy-something children's Tops, and the ones i made for my sisters have been the two most lovely.
But here is a grain of salt:
The envelope got to Aeliza just before she graduate highschool and moved to the States. The envelope arrived, but the top was not in it. It is somewhere on a matte-glossed hardwood floor with the two year old son of an Alemmanish speaking Postman. It is being spun by pudgy hands. It still teaters after only a few seconds, but he is learning to use his fingers, and it will spin for longer each time he tries. When he is in his thirties, he will be cleaning out the space under his Father's staircase and he will find his old box of toys and it will spin forever; and though his Father comes from a closed-mouth generation, he will remember the days when he wanted to be a postman. He was still young then and wrote his book-reports on the monarch butterfly. He still had Velcro shoes and sometimes would get sad without knowing the reasons why. He did not know what his parents said to each other, but liked the way their voices carried, high and low. He would leave the door open to his loft-bed bedroom. And the hallway was warm. As he would curl his legs under the tucked-in down comforter, he would imagine himself in the shape of a Schnecke.
Thirty something and watching the top spin, the German man will think about his post-man back-pain and about his father and about how he still sometimes feels sad and does not know why. But he'll be thankful that his father only spoke softly, and that he, our hero, learned patience from Job himself.
But Hugo, here is a teaspoon of sugar: a young couple in the Paris Market bought a pair of tops for their future children. they will also speak softly and scrapbook. They will do their best to encourage curiosity and not only buy gendered toys. they're children will know they love them and will never doubt their own ability to articulate or the importance of questions. They will go to school because they want to. and they will put their fists through the already broken window panes in their rectory's bookshelf office rooms.
Rev. Collin K Garrity
There is the danger in the connection between intention and result. what of beautiful people and their parents? we have a tendency toward this thinking anyway. And it scares me.