Dear Marshall,
Your last day of your first year of school was June 24th. Ironically you almost missed the bus for the first time that morning. And it was partly because of dandelions, believe it or not. You just had to pick some before you got on the bus, even though you were running a bit late.
Picking dandelions had became one of your rituals of school attendance. As you left the house each morning, you would look for dandelions to pick. You’d grab a few for Miss Holly, your teacher, and take them on the bus with you. Then, before leaving school, you’d look for dandelions to bring home for us. You did this every day.
Why? Maybe you just felt the need to pick them, and having picked them, needed something to do with them. Or maybe you earnestly wanted to bring some “sunshine” into the lives of your favorite adults. Who knows?
And while it might almost have been ridiculous, because of the extreme to which you took it (every day!), it was a beautiful thing. I like getting flowers. I think it’s sweet. Miss Holly probably thought so, too. The bus drivers certainly got a kick out of it! And I’m so happy that no one told you not to do it. I don’t want your natural impulses to be squashed so early in this bus trip we call Life.
I will miss those dandelion deliveries. And I’m going to miss “backpack mail,” which is how all of your school crafts came home to us. We never knew what we’d find when we opened your backpack, whether it would be pictures or snow-measuring sticks, gifts for mom and dad, hand-made bracelets, leprechaun ears, or other holiday decorations. You must have painted pictures with just about every item imaginable—not just fingers and brushes, but also dandelions, pasta, apples, and buttons. No year ever saw such a diverse and wonderful set of decorations.
We saved all of your craft projects, you know. Your dad insisted. He wanted to get them all first and then decide which few favorites to save. So they’re sitting in a box, except the ones that are still hanging on the bulletin board. I’m not sure I’m ready to part with any of them yet, so there they will stay until next year, when you bring home a new batch.
Congratulations on finishing your first year!
Love,
Mom