Today, I was outside weeding the garden. I came across a dandelion. I was reminded of when I was four years old and convinced they were flowers. They were all over our front yard. One day, my dad set out to tackle "his weed problem". I found out what his plans were, and I was mortified. "Dad (I never called him Daddy; I was too grown up for that), why are you going to kill those flowers." "They're not flowers, they're weeds." "No Dad, they are flowers. Look, I'll show you. See, they are flowers." "Nope, they're weeds." Over and over again, I tried to convince my dad that they were flowers. I can still hear his simple, same-tone statement to my every argument, "they're weeds".
This morning Cece was out with me in her bouncer watching me pull "the flower" that is really a weed out of the ground and stuff it in the trash bag. Made me think about how much I appreciate my "daddy" (even though I never called him that). I was convinced they were weeds, and although, he didn't back down, I was allowed to think they were flowers. He didn't yell at me, scold me for arguing (all though, when needed, he would:)), he didn't tell me to leave him alone or go to my room. He just let me keep trying to convince him. I'm so glad my dad let me think they were flowers! More than that, I'm glad my dad loved me so much, he let me argue with him about dandelions. Cece has a dad like that--and, how I cannot wait to hear what she tries to convince him of!