Flying Away

Flying Away

In the middle of the kindergarten school year, my teacher assigned us show-n-tell. I brought a toy called a Zhu Zhu Pet, a moving hamster pet on wheels that I cherished. My mom and I were outside our apartment in Coral Springs, Florida, enjoying a sunny day as we walked to our car. As a young short haired girl in a navy blue jumper uniform, I skipped along the grass, trodding on the glistening dew of early morning. On our way, I spotted a monarch butterfly strolling across the sidewalk. Crouching down next to it, I admired its delicate patterned wings. It didn't flee.

With all the gentleness a five year old could muster, I put my hand down, and to my surprise, it crawled right up my finger.

“Mamma, it's so cute! Can I take it to show-n-tell? Pretty pleeaassee?” I asked.

“Sure, why not,” she responded. We climbed into her silver Honda, the little orange and black critter calmly relaxing on my hand. It didn't move, so I assumed it was injured. We drove the whole fifteen minutes to school, and my new friend hadn't moved an inch.

As we walked into the large brown school building, butterfly in hand. Mrs Cohn, one of the staff, noticed the creature perched like a statue and asked if I wanted to keep it in one of those butterfly exhibits.

“No thank you,” I responded. “It won't leave since it's hurt!”

Sure enough, a few minutes later as I made my way to the classroom, my new friend suddenly fluttered away. While disappointment washed over me, I was grateful that it was unscathed. I was also relieved that I brought the Zhu Zhu Pet that day for show-n-tell, because that's what I had to use instead.

At my naive age, I could have never understood any deep meanings from this simple exchange. Yet, as I think back on this simple moment, I wonder how many of us, like that butterfly, accept support then fly off before giving anything to the helper? Not on purpose or from malicious intent, of course, but maybe because we were too little, or we didn't realize, or we were so used to it that we failed to recognize all the good others have heaped onto us.

There are so many times I can remember my parents heaping these acts of kindness or goodness on me. For example, the countless times I saw a TY brand stuffed panda, or wolf, or tiger or cheetah, or any other of the variety of stuffed animals that the TY brand has in the local Walmart.

“Mommy, Daddy, it's so cute! Can I get it?” I would plead with bright, wide, hazel eyes. My parents would look at each other. They couldn't afford it. But they saw my excitement and desire, and nodded at each other. Anything for their daughter. I skipped off happily with my prize, unaware of the accumulating stress of finances I was putting them in. Looking at my now hundred plus collection, I see how similar I was to the winged creature.

Just like that butterfly, I had no idea of how much care and effort I received from my parents. I recently heard a Talmudic phrase that makes so much sense in this context: “More than the calf wants to suckle, the cow wants to give milk.” It makes sense, more than I could ever have wanted those little animals, my parents were desperate to give them to me.

Previously, I wondered, how could I ever make it up to them. But then it struck me. They don't want me to. Their only desire is to give. The only thing I can do for them is to be the best me I could be.