Why can’t we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn’t work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.
~Charles M. Schulz
Bye Bye Butterfly – A Poem for Children
Our pre-school has two groups:
Tater Tots and Hot Dogs.
The Tater Tots are the tiny ones, Hot Dogs are BIG time.
The Tater Tots are always yipping on the heels of the Hot Dogs, who themselves are often strutting around like seniors before a Lilliputian Grad Night.
And yesterday, that’s kind of what it was. We had a Tater Tot turned Hot Dog, now ready for Kindergarten.
Writer Dad… Please stop talking about tater tots and hot dogs. It is either boring people, or making them hungry. Besides, there might be some new people on the site today, and you can’t afford to lose their attention.
Got it.
So today Daisy and I have our first graduate, that we didn’t make and bake ourselves.
We’ll call her Faye.
In two weeks, Faye’s having a baby brother. One more after that, and she’ll be in Kindergarten. She came to our school two and a half years ago, shortly after we opened; a frightened little girl who had never spent more than an hour out of earshot from family.
You can imagine the difficulty of this transition.
She was like a cub, pulled from her den by the scruff of her neck, and then suddenly dropped on the other side of the canyon with a new and unfamiliar pack to howl with. Faye spent her entire first day telling us over and over that she, “Missed her parents very well.” Fortunately, she quickly adapted, and this once scared little girl blossomed and bloomed into quite the extraordinary child.
I already miss her, though she isn’t yet gone. I wrote this poem for her, one of my favorite children, but I hope it can be read as poem for children everywhere.
Two years ago, our lives were all shifting. Warm whispering winds had set things to drifting. Blowing into our home a sweet little lassie; funny and smart, and a little bit sassy.
She had never been to a pre-school before, a few weeks from three, and a long ways from four. With a hard stomping foot, and a forsaken yell, she screamed, “I miss my parents… very well.”
That hard time for her, well it passed pretty soon, lasting a bit less than a full quarter moon. And then the frown on her face made a series of flips, and reversed the rotation on both of her lips.
She then walked around with a smile fixed to her face, unbelievably happy all over the place. The days, and the weeks, and the months they all melted. Faye was so special, and each of us felt it.
With kris-crossing limbs, and two folded hands, she stretched out her thoughts like they were brain rubber bands. She learned all her letters, and then all her words. Then she let them all fly like a flock full of birds.
But it didn’t end there. She wasn’t just a good reader. She was also a wonderfully natural leader. So at this time, I’d like to speak, about some of the things that make Faye so unique:
All of those ringlets, atop piles of curls (she has a million and one more than most other girls). Her animated spirit and her resolute soul, both qualities that will help in meeting most every goal.
Her generous nature when dealing with others, treating her friends like her sisters and brothers. I’m almost done now, but I’m not finished yet. Here are just a few things that I’ll never forget.
Speaking in nonsense and jibber jab sounds, while we sang and we danced and we ran all around. Hunting for butterflies, then letting them fly, as they flip flapped their wings and they colored our sky.
Looking in Faye’s eyes as I held both her hands, and she nodded her head with an, “I understand.” That day that Faye told us, “My mom’s having a baby.” The yes she so wanted, no longer a maybe.
Thank you little Faye, for being easy to reach, easy to play with, and easy to teach. So when we all sigh, “Oh that Faye, how we’ve missed her.” We’ll know that baby Ray Ray is lucky, that you’re his big sister.
Good luck Faye. Thanks for inspiring a poem for children everywhere. We will miss you very well.
Writer Dad
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