The
letter for today is: A,
where I feature aggravation
and apple.
At
a young age, eating an apple provided
the best of experiences. But I became agitated
when I couldn't eat every last bit, consoling myself with nibbling around the
seeds and stalk. Agitation plagued
me each time I tried to achieve perfection, like remembering a poem to
entertain my sisters. At the age of ten, I didn't realize memory wasn't an
attribute I'd assimilate.
In
my thirties, my children's shortcomings agitated
me. How could they forget what I'd taught them? I spent every spare moment
setting a good example and they didn't follow in my footsteps. I never gave up
hope, although I finally stepped back when they left home.
Of
course, maturity brings understanding. It's not so easy to eat an apple any more with my crooked teeth.
And as far as influencing anyone else, I might as well forget it.
Each
person makes their own choice and must operate within their own parameters. The
only person who rouses my aggravation
now—is myself.
