For a child’s special day in a school year, a parent brought a treat for everyone. A vacation birthday, like mine, meant I missed out. I completed 88 years yesterday and while nobody is alive who remembers when I was a baby, 35 people from my dentist to my three children acknowledged that June 17 is special to me. I could tell story after story about my life or even give details of yesterday. Yet because it was year 88, I am going to offer a poem that I wrote in 2009 with a class of children to help them consider what defined them. Maybe you will think what you are most like as a person in whatever year you are.
I am an 8: stable yet moving around in smooth circles. Up, over, around . Down, under, up. Resting at the point of crossing.
Even when I lose my position and flip, I am a driving belt keeping gears turning or maybe I’m glasses; looking, seeking a vision, pursuing understanding.
At times I sink to the bottom, weighed down with garbage: worries or commitments
Other times I go to the top: a soaring balloon about to escape entirely unless someone holds my string.
But mostly I am an 8: stable yet in motion, rising at the point of crossing.
So teach us to number our days, That we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Psalm 90:12
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Let Me Tell Ya 