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throw the tooth

behind the sun,

far, far behind the sun,

and ask for a gazelle’s tooth in place of the donkey’s tooth,

behind the sun,

far, far behind the sun,

my Son.

Based on regional folklore, children are told to throw their milk teeth (traditionally nicknamed donkey teeth) behind the sun, and ask the sun to give permanent teeth (traditionally nicknamed gazelle’s teeth) in their place.

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In the midst of virtual relationships.  Of shared pictures and posted messages.  Of Birds, and Faces, and Picturegrams.

She picks up the phone.  And calls an old friend.  To listen to his voice.  As he speak to her. And only her.

Remember when his fingers guided you up the wooden bridge.  His eyes watched you slide down.  His hands caught you on the other end of the bridge.  And carried you back up again and again and again.

Please be easy on him now.

He is still only a boy, only taller.  And you are still his red toy car, only bigger.

‘Mama, am I pretty?’ the little girl asks.

‘Yes, you are.  Prettier than the moon and the stars.  Prettier than the flowers and the butterflies.  Prettier than the rainbows and the clouds.  Prettier than the streams and the pebbles.

Prettier, prettier in my eyes than any, any boy will ever, ever see you.’

Will you walk with her?  Even if you see the road ending before you; will you still walk with her?

Will you stand by her?  Even if you feel your legs giving way from the weight you carry; will you still stand by her?

Will you give yourself to her?  Even if you hear your breath fainting and there is less and less of yourself to give; will you still give that last piece of yourself to her?

You will?  You may kiss her.

Have you heard of the mighty man that once was?

He wrestled the treacherous seas.  He confronted the harsh desserts.  He battled the fierce storms.

The mighty man is old now.

He wrestles with the spoon in his cup.  He confronts the cat standing in his walkway.  He battles with the sweater that he struggles to put on.

Yet, he lives a mighty man in the hearts and minds of those he had wrestled, confronted and battled for – when he was once a mighty man.

He tugs; then she tugs.  She tugs; then he tugs.  At times the rope yields to one side; or the other.  At most times, it is an obstinate act of no avail.

Until one starry night, their hands began sliding little by little towards the middle of the rope.  Their fingers met; and intertwined.

The tugging ended; and the loving began.

At the week’s end,

when the evening winds down into quiet darkness after a long summer day, have a good long pillow talk and end it with a good night kiss.   And fall in love all over again.

Have a love thick weekend.