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A Hope-er…

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Collective tale

One of the first poems I memorized as a kid was Shel Silverstein’s “Invitation.” I still have my first copy of Where The Sidewalk Ends. Somehow we just know, even when young, which books we’re going to keep and which we’ll move beyond quickly. Although I lost the dust jacket years ago, the fabric cloth cover and binding are still intact. My name is still legible on the inside cover, and when I leaf through the pages, I see my juvenile handwritten notes in the upper corners…”write essay about it.” (Foreshadowing, perchance?)

Writers, poets, illustrators, and the like use words and imagery to shine a light on the ordinary, making it extraordinary. They showcase our human tendencies in evocative ways and flesh out the dreams and wishes we often don’t know we hold dear. Silverstein’s work always felt to me like a prodding to play with language, to appreciate words as more than a combination of letters, and to see the seemingly unimaginable as imaginable.

Silverstein started Where the Sidewalk Ends with an invitation. In “Invitation,” he welcomes everyone…dreamers, wishers, hope-ers and even the typically less than desirable liars. He invites everyone to sit and spin tales.

My eyes well with tears and I break into a smile each time I read it. His words are full of heart. It’s one of the shortest pieces in my children’s book library that speaks about inclusion without directly speaking about the benefits of inclusion. He’s used just seven lines, two of which repeat…”Come in! Come in!” He makes inclusion seem simple and achievable: just invite and let everyone in.

I can’t help but believe that life and mindfulness is this simple. We make it more complicated. We make distinctions and judgments and rationalize separation almost without much effort. We have a social habit of exclusion. These people are my friends; they are not. These things are good; they are bad. These people are deserving; they are undeserving. And on. And on until we have so many lines drawn that we can’t see our commonality anymore.

But for this “hope-er,” Silverstein’s message feels like a reset button. Easy to memorize, I hope teachers, families, and children not only hear this message, but memorize it, feel it and live it. We learn from everyone. We gain perspective by seeing and hearing different perspectives. We are not spinning separate tales; we are living one collective tale, and we all contribute the words.

May we all see our commonalities.

Namaste, Shel Silverstein.


Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.

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