My first memory is from the first time we lived in Roanoke. We didn't live there for very long. I was 3 years old and went for a walk to 7-11 with my mom and friends Susanna, Shannon, and their mom. At 7-11, Susanna and I both got bouncy balls.
I loved my bouncy ball. This was in a time where toys were simpler. And harder to come by. I think they were more appreciated because kids didn't have houses completely loaded up with toys. And so I was admiring my bouncy ball and walking back home when the unthinkable happened.
I dropped the bouncy ball.
Bouncy balls are fast!
Faster than a spider.
Faster than a race car.
Maybe faster than a speeding bullet.
My bouncy ball bounced and rolled and tumbled itself right under the world's densest bush.
And I cried.
Dig and shove and scramble as well as we could, the bouncy ball was nowhere to be found.
I was filled with despair.
And I cried as hard as only a 3 year old can.
A 3 year old feels loss exponentially.
Particularly when it involves a missing toy.
Trust me. I deal with this on a daily basis with Pierce.
And each time, when frustration mounts in me, I try to remember how I felt when I lost the bouncy ball.
And try to find patience.
In the end, the despair was too great.
And my mom took me back to get a replacement bouncy ball.
Now that's love.
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