Remember back then when we were learning how to stitch? Putting cottons back piece by piece, I can recall each time, and how I pricked myself in the process, it’s funny I still have some of the scars on my fingers, but I’m amazed how the same thing applies to adults no matter how old we claim we are.
I get to look back on those days because the current state of my brother’s heart has demanded that I must remember.
It was made up of cotton, different linen with diverse colors, soft and gentle inside, but coated in brass, thereby appearing strong outside; the state of his heart. Like every gate of brass, there was a key hole that could reveal how fluffy it was. It was opened and soon was discovered to be soft, the heart that was once seen as hard as rock.
Many believed that they needed a blood to break that diamond, but she came like Roger Bacon and proved them wrong, a master key was what she used, and the brassy exterior gave way and landed her safely on the shore of his heart. It almost seemed as if she was the captain of the ship, she made some changes, fixed some glitches as well. But in no time she tore down the wall and this time, what was required was more than ordinary stitching!
She blatantly denounced, some words she never pronounced, and soon the linens were worn out and torn down.
He allowed it pass, he picked up the needle of “who cares” he was ready to stitch, he threaded his heart with the thread of “moving on”, he started stitching, though it was stitched, in the process the needle pricked him countless number of times and drained the life out of him.
When I reminded him of how our mom used to teach us how to stitch, he said “I’ve grown from that boy mommy was teaching how to stitch, I sincerely appreciate her that she did and when my children are with me, I’ll pass them the family legacy of teaching.”
“But I doubt I’ll teach them how to stitch, instead I’ll teach them how to quickly look out for any glitch, any glitch that will stimulate the need for a stitch, because they will know, it’s just a matter a time I’ll teach them to keep the walls of brass shut, even when people are saying they’re too hard, and when they don’t understand why I’m telling them to, I’ll tell them the story of my heart, I’ll tell them how stitching hurts, I’ll tell them I’ve learnt from the past, because I allowed myself to be taught by the past!”
So with that I’ve come to the realization that childhood is not different from adulthood, just that as we get older, the issues get tougher too. And I will always, be in the class of my memory to be taught by the past, so that I can understand every moment where I stand.