3 Little Girls

                                                                    Everyday is a brand new day, everyday is a journey.

                             

He who plants a tree, he plants love;
Tents of coolness spreading out above
Wayfarers, he may not live to see.
Gifts that grow are best;
Hands that bless are blest;
Plant-life does the rest!
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,
And his work his own reward shall be.

--Lucy Larcom.

There are three little girls living across the street from us. Their ages are like a series of steps, 3-4-5. Adorable! I love watching them play and interact with one another. Their mom dresses them almost identical. They all wear dresses or all have pigtails or all wear shorts. What I really, really love about them is their relationship with their father. 

Their father, by all accounts, looks like a man from the wrong side of the tracks. His appearance would frighten some people. He has piercings, tattoos, long hair and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Yet, when he comes home, his little girls run to him, jumping up and clinging to him like tiny Capuchin monkeys. He picks one up, flinging her in the air, while the other two hold onto his legs. The love between them all is so evident and refreshing. They truly love one another.

Fathers are not something that my generation knew within my family. The women in our family were either widowed, separated, divorced or single moms. The men, for whatever reason, weren't around. That's why whenever I see fatherhood displayed openly and lovingly, it fills my heart with Joy. If there was anything I wanted changed in the coming generations within our family, it was the role of the father. I'm happy to report, it is completely different than it was in my childhood. 

My favorite scene from across the street is at one of the girl's birthday party BBQ. Their dad picked them up one by one singing to them and danced with them in his arms. Oh, they loved it. I think all little girls want a relationship like that with their daddy. Unfortunately, it doesn't always happen. 

Pretty soon the school year will begin and once again, I will see them sitting down on the parking cement block waiting for the school bus. Their book bags, all identical pink, covering three quarters of their little bodies. Their grandfather, who watches them, losing his mind as they never listen to him. Come here. Put that down. Sit down. Get out of the street. Stop eating that. All the while, they're just jumping around like three Capuchin monkeys, smiling and giggling. Oh, the love that is there.

Have a blessed day everyone.