Donald Charles Calarco
On a bright and sunny June day in 1996, I was tending the small garden in my back yard accompanied by my first grand-daughter, Gianna. Gianna was a very happy child. Always willing to help and always ready with a barrage of questions that I was sure would turn her into a magnificent woman some day (I was right). She was busy watering some of the flowers in the potted plants as I was picking up twigs and brush. As I reached down with my weed-picker and plopped a dandelion out of my lawn by its root, Gianna let out an awful scream. Thinking she may have injured herself, I ran to her side to find her staring up at me with as stern a scowl as you can imagine from a four year old. You killed that baby flower, Papa she cried. I pick those flowers for my mom and she likes them she said sternly. Standing there with the dandelion still intact in my hand, I was at a loss for words for the better part of a minute. After she followed me to the other side of the yard, where we transplanted the lovely little flower, I began to tell her the story of a dandelions life. It wasnt until she turned sixteen that I was reminded of the story that I had created to soothe her I and decided to put it to print. I hope you like it as much as she did.