This was an assignment that my math teacher gave us as a philosophical final. Other then this, I don't believe this requires much more explanation.
Rosebud. A sled. Simply a wooden sled, but representing what was lost. Citizen Kane’s childhood freedom. Being loved by his mother for who he was. Playful days in the snow. The day he left his younger self, was the day he began to yearn for it. As he grew into an adult, he could no longer remember the simplicity of this happiness; he only remembered that he wanted it. He tried to buy it back. But he couldn’t. A sled... A yearning...
Rosebud. A dandelion. My “Rosebud” is a dandelion.
As small children, everything we see is new to us. Fresh. Beautiful. As children we can stand in a backyard for hours and marvel at the beautiful grass, and flowers, and bugs. And blow dandelion seeds. As children we watch the perfect little seeds spiral off into the unseen. And simply savor watching. And doing it again and again.
As children we can gaze at the stars, at a penny falling, sparkling into a fountain, or dandelion seed disappearing, and make a wish. And believe it. There is endless hope. Anything is possible.
Dandelions are the childhood safety we have. The perfect comfort. The fearlessness. The beauty. The love. The wonder. The wasted hours that were not really wasted at all. Wading through the yard with our friends. Weaving chains out of the flowers.
I love dandelions. More specifically, I love the seeds. They are so delicate. Without imperfection. I also love all of the memories I have swathed around dandelions. As I grow into an adult, their beauty will not be lost to me, but I won’t have the time to stand in a yard and make empty wishes and blow seeds that will just cause more work later.
Children don’t worry that they are spreading more seeds, the weed seeds that adults try so hard to get rid of. They are caught in the moment. Children don’t see them as weeds. They don’t see them as a nuisance. It is only as people grow older that everything evolves into something more sinister. Adults cannot afford the luxury of carelessly letting the weed seeds fly back into their gardens with any aspect of their lives. They cannot stand and marvel at the beautiful dandelion seeds, they must worry about all of the weeds that will be born from it. The beauty is shrouded from them. One doesn’t see an adult still believing that the wish they planted will actually grow. One doesn’t see an adult standing in their backyard contentedly blowing dandelion seed for hours. But don’t all adults wish life could be that simple again? Let the responsibilities blow away with the wind.
I remember when I was little; my mom went on a dandelion extermination crusade. Every day without fail she would march through the yard with a plastic bag and scissors and cut the flowers and seed balls off of the dandelions to prevent them from spreading. This broke my heart, they were so pretty. I asked her if she thought they were pretty too. She said that yes they were, but we couldn’t just leave them. They were weeds. I begged her to leave them. They weren’t even hurting her plants. I was bewildered. Confused.
It is strange to think that as adults, they may see the beauty in something, but they don’t know the beauty of that something. They may love something, but in the face of their age, they destroy it.
I will grow into an adult. I will forget this paper. I will probably forget “Rosebud” in the wake of everything else. But every time I will look at a dandelion I will feel nostalgia. I will want that childhood. I am only 14, and yet I already miss my childhood. I am predicting that this feeling will intensify with time.
I don’t want to lose the beauty of dandelions. I don’t want to lose hope. I don’t want to lose my time. But I will. I will long for the dandelions.
Copyright 2011 Abigail Chapman
