|
There is a sweet ad for life insurance in Thailand about a little boy who wants to be a garbage man. The teacher is confused when he hands in that wish for homework, until the other kids explain.
His mother spends her days sweeping the streets,
and one day she was hit by a car. His fierce love for her spills out as ambition to protect her, and do the work in her place. Once she understands, the teacher is moved and gives him a perfect grade. Garbage is part of my life, and probably yours too. Not just the kind that Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout refused to take out either. Trashy talk, expired expectations, moldy feelings all show up
regularly.
But when you love someone, you deal with it. Ben spewed a few words at me this morning that I could have taken offense to. But I just opened the can and let them fall in. No need to stockpile them. John has some habits that I could, well, admittedly have in the past, refused to let go of. But like Sarah Cynthia I eventually saw the sense in taking out the garbage.
I only hope that unlike Sarah, it is not too
late.
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would not take the garbage out! She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans, Candy the yams and spice the hams, And though her daddy would scream and shout, She simply would not take the garbage out. And so it piled up to the ceilings: Coffee grounds, potato peelings, Brown bananas, rotten peas, Chunks of
sour cottage cheese. It filled the can, it covered the floor, It cracked the window and blocked the door With bacon rinds and chicken bones, Drippy ends of ice cream cones, Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel, Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal, Pizza crusts and withered greens, Soggy beans and
tangerines, Crusts of black burned buttered toast, Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . . The garbage rolled on down the hall, It raised the roof, it broke the wall. .
. Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs, Globs of gooey bubble gum, Cellophane from green baloney, Rubbery blubbery macaroni, Peanut butter, caked and dry, Curdled milk and crusts of pie, Moldy melons, dried-up mustard, Eggshells mixed with lemon custard, Cold french fried and rancid meat, Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat. At last the garbage reached so high That it finally touched the sky. And all the neighbors moved away, And none of her friends would come to play. And finally
Sarah Cynthia Stout said, "OK, I'll take the garbage out!" But then, of course, it was too late. . . The garbage reached across the state, From New York to
the Golden Gate. And there, in the garbage she did hate, Poor Sarah met an awful fate, That I cannot now relate Because the hour is much too
late. But children, remember Sarah Stout And always take the garbage out!Shel Silverstein,
1974
|
|
|
|
|
