If Shapes Could Talk
My mom is a triangle. My dad is a square. I am a rhombus, and we all live over there. Our house is a big dome, and it holds the things we own. We have knick-knacks and doodads and a garden that we've grown. My uncle is a rectangle. And my aunt is an oval. Grandma and Grandpa are circles, and everyone is so jovial. I love my shapely family. Our days were always so fine. But when I began to go to school, I saw families different than mine. Maxine, the polka-dotted hexagon, had a mom and dad striped in square. They had a huge house with a heart-shaped pool. I wondered, "Well, how is that fair?" Why don't I have a bigger house or look unique with dots? Thoughts kept running through my head of our differences, and there are lots. I wanted the things that Maxine had, but was that wrong of me to say? I asked my dad, "Can we have a pool?" He said, "Not now, dear. Go along and play." One day, Maxine invited me over. We played with all of her things. She had a cat, a dog, a bird, and a house big enough for kings. "Maxine," I said, "I love your stuff! You must never be bored here." Maxine smiled sadly and replied, "I miss the ones that I hold dear." Maxine explained that she was adopted. She lost her mom and dad. Her smile started to fade away, and she became a little sad. I hugged Maxine and told her, "I'm sorry. I really didn't know." She looked at me and said, "It's okay, but I think it's time for you to go." I grabbed my things and ran back home. When I got there, I held my parents tight. My mother asked, "Baby, what's wrong?" I glanced up and said, "I don't think I was right." I explained the things Maxine went through and how I messed up our playdate. I thought I wanted all the things she had, but I realized that my life was great. I have two parents that love me so, and a beautiful garden to play. A house filled with love and laughter and I can see my family every day. When I saw Maxine again, I gave her a hug. I apologized for being jealous and coy. She taught me a lesson that I'll never forget, That comparison is the enemy of joy. |
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