Mine Died Before We Really Started, but I am Still a Winner
My sunflower died. A strange comment from a non-farmer, made even stranger if you know me at all.
So, what in the world am I talking about?
Each year around Mother's Day, in my wife's beautiful vegetable garden, near the back behind the cucumbers, squash, watermelon, green beans, and mint, we plant sunflowers. One for each person in the house, creating the starting point of a race to the first day of school in the fall as to who's sunflower will be the tallest. And when I say one for each person, each one of my kids stuffies seems to get their own sunflower, making it six in the race rather than just the four human beings who live in the house. In the end, the winner gets to choose dinner and a movie. Somehow, I lose there too because I end up paying no matter who wins.
We've done this for years, I've never won. In fact, somehow I finished last every year. Literally last. The non-human stuffies have beaten me each year. I try to be a good loser, but it's hard to lose to an inanimate object and then have it lorded over to you by your small child. Last year, I wasn't sure one of the stuffies would get back into the house based on the “stuffie’s" (though the voice of my child) antics regarding my poor performance.
So how can it get worse than losing every year to everyone in your family and two stuffed animals that your children sleep with each night? Your sunflower dies before you're a month into the competition. Keep in mind all the sunflowers are planted in a row. Mine is the only one that's dead.
So why do I love this?
These are memories my children will carry with them through their life. Moments of great anticipation and joy. Happiness in the knowledge of our togetherness. Laughter as they think about their father losing the sunflower races each and every year. There is nothing that a television or an iPad will bring to their life that will be more important or more memorable than the summer sunflower races.
And it's not just about the kids. I have no green thumb. But my wife manages all of this. She's checking those sunflowers every other day. Giving updates at dinner. She finds humor in it as well. As well as the joy.
I'll lose every year. Not sure I want my sunflower to die each year, but if I finish last amongst four human and two stuffies but get to see the smiles on the faces, hear the laughter in the voices, feel the love of a family, there are really, in truth, no losers. All are winners. Especially me.
