Poetry and other *~WORDS~* are ~BENEATH~ the Photos. Please be so kind as to Scroll DOWN beneath Photos to READ...ThankYou, CherylFaith Site is currently under construction. Please return soon to see our new and improved look. Thank you! :) PeaceLove&Smiles, CFT
Dear BananaLady, (local supermarket shopper, who queued to pay for your purchases in front of my son and me),
I am sorry my energetic, impatient, bored little boy's right index finger touched your three green bananas, (which, by the way, you had precariously placed, in your grocery cart's top/side area, where one of them hung, provocatively, peering at any-sized prankster, a dare-me grin upon his tender new upper peel), resulting in their graceless, yet shockingly non-bruising tumble to the besmirth-ed supermarket floor. Did you see? My son immediately retrieved your fruit, placed it more securely than you had, back into your cart, & hung his head ever-so-slightly; the Words, "I'm sorry," passed through his sweet little mouth & into your ears, I am certain you heard. He has practiced, incessantly, the articulation of these Words (although, I am proud to say, he has no more regular need to say them than any seven-year-old boy).
Thank you for being so kind. I spoke sincerely when I offered to: a) return your stalwart, verdant threesome to Produce & to switch them for a virgin, never-met-floor threesome, b) pay for your original unripened green team, (you insisted these were the exact length and plumply-formed fruit of your desire), c) purchase for you that Mars bar, your score! (your entire Day's persistent fantasy?) You opted to retain the original happy little threesome, & you were as gracious as could be... ?
Madame, I pose a question. Perhaps you could clarify for me. When you smiled in such a manner which seemed to pain you, bobbing your self-righteous, super-coiffed, AquaNetted helmet in certain comprehension of the situation; when your gentle Heart spoke... and you stated: "It's so difficult for him," had the thought occurred to you that my son had acted as any little child might, in the same situation? I believe the assumption which sounded in your head lacked any brain-stress. "It's so difficult for him." Did you mean: "A little boy who looks as if he might have Down Syndrome should not be expected to behave appropriately? A child who looks ~different neither should nor (indeed!) cannot be held to the same standards as another child, when the theme is: “We do not touch other people's property?"
Madame shopper, Lady of the gentlest of Hearts, whilst you and I were engaged in our brief, insightful conversation, did you see my son heft a huge container of mineral water from my cart and place it upon the conveyer belt? I missed the sight, but the pretty ladies behind us reddened and giggled; one female exclaimed, “What a strong little boy, and what a flirt he is!” (She looked rosey, glossy, directly stepped from the cover of the Autumn Vogue magazine which begged a buy, while witness to the fun.) Earlier in the shopping adventure, I wish you had been nearby as we perused the bakery section. I told Leo, moving swiftly, miserably, away from the bakery, "I've been craving a brownie for weeks." Leo doesn't really like brownies, or anything chocolate, very much. He did, however, walk over to the bakery shelf, where sumptuous treats of every manner fill approximately twenty crowded shelves, and never cease to baffle my brain, utterly stumping my decision-making process, each time I allow my chocoholic's eyes to linger in that haven...He walked directly over to that heavenly section (I had averted my eyes, truth to tell). His little hands quickly picked up a medium-sized, round pan, while he simultaneously indicated a second pan, this one small and square. I, his own mother, actually thought, "Since Leo doesn't like chocolate, and he has likely never eaten a brownie, I am in zero danger of Leo finding my chocolate fantasy today."
His left hand cradled a pan which read "Brownies;" these appeared to be a conglomerate of low-calorie, non-fat, dull, tasteless, baked brown fake things, bland-looking enough as to nearly remove my urge. The little foil pan at his right hand offered me a decadent, four-piece selection of 300 calorie-a-piece, walnut-smothered, still oven-warm, fudge brownies. Oh, my boy! I love your Heart! I crouched to transfer love into his eyes.
Sister-supermarket shopper: I do not think you are a villain. I only ask you to imagine, to stretch your mind's boundaries a bit. Please be not offended by my request, as I bear you no ill will; I understand your...well...your ignorance. I have been (I am!) ignorant about a great many subjects in my Life. I try to learn from every experience, although certain grooves inside our brains are so well-worn as to be slippery, so we stick steadfastly to their old familiar curves, fearing an avalanche if we are to detour...Thank you again, Madame. I pray your bananas bring you enormous enjoyment. Please consider my intelligent little son as you bite into that perfect, miraculously-formed fruit. Even if you discover a tiny bruise, you might still consider that Natural wonder a piece of perfection...
Oh, and I appreciate the way you jogged my memory, Ma'am: I craved a tiny botanical review, after meeting you...Did you know?...Bananas don't grow on trees!