A Dad's Wisdom
"Come on," my dad would say, "let's do some gardening." It wasn't a question, but a demand -– and I wasn't exempt, no matter if I said, "Dad, I'm playing baseball." Or football, soccer, or going sailing. It was a chore. I resented it. My dad's garden was a kaleidoscope of color, including dozens of roses in a bed that needed constant attention. "Roses are the greediest flower of all," dad told me. "They need sun, water, drainage, perfect soil, no clay." "Then why have them?" I'd ask. He'd lean down over a perfect blossom, plant his nose, close his eyes, and inhale. Then motion for me to do the same. I wasn't impressed. I was disgruntled." So begins this real-life short story about a boy, his garden and the wisdom of fathers.
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