As a product of the 1980's household, discipline was not taking away a cell phone or taking me off a travel team. I didn't just get a stern lecture. I would go without my late-night reading sessions, my black and white television in the room I shared with my younger sister (and thus feel her wrath), face months worth of grounding, surely be made to apologize, and probably feel my dad's size 12 flip flop across my behind. Consequently, I behaved. I was a good-natured kid anyway, but I had older siblings and knew that behaving paid in spades.
So I took my aggression out on dandelions. One thing an Olson kid knew as that we did not mess with the less common white dandelions. I spent my young childhood in a small northern Utah town. Utah has four seasons, and after a wet winter, yellow dandelions begin to spring up all over the yard. They hail the advent of spring. I know, you thought it was daffodils and tulips, but for a kid like me, I knew winter was really over when our yard filled with yellow dandelions. I smeared their vibrant yellow all over the sidewalk, thrilled to see nature at work. And then I popped their heads off, picturing these cruel boys in my mind.
I'm sure my mom wishes dandelions actually looked that good. She probably also wishes that her favorite daughter didn't constantly turn the sidewalk yellow and then leave dead dandelion heads all over the yard, but she knew I was weird.
Now, when most people think of dandelions, they think of the dandelions that did not usually grow in our yard. They were harder to find, especially completely intact. They were special. These were not to be destroyed. These dandelions, delicate and white, were for wishing only. With four kids in our house and a family with six kids across the street, white dandelions became a hot commodity. Once pickup baseball games began in our yards, they disappeared, hit with bats, balls, and random objects that became our bases. But I still sought them in earnest.
On the magical day that I found an intact white dandelion, I carefully picked it directly from the grass. Then I stared at it forever, formulating the perfect wish. You see, any kid over age three knew that white dandelions were the secret to getting a wish granted. They were better than the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa combined. Their magical powers unlocked the keys to the wishes that no one else could grant. The trick was formulating that wish before the wind blew your chances away. Then you had to blow all the little white "blossoms" away in one giant blow. For a little girl, this nearly insurmountable task could take all spring and into the early summer to accomplish. But the hope, the magic renewed itself with each new dandelion.
I wished for two things every summer. I wished for the bullies to quit, and I wished for my own room.
The bullies still haven't quit, and now I voluntarily share a room with a smelly man.
But I learned the truth about dandelions.
Dandelions teach us to just let go.
I eventually learned to stand up to those bullies. In sixth grade, Evan Hernandez's torments reached an all-time high. I'd bruised my tailbone one too many times.
My smart, although probably unconventional parents finally said, "If he says one more thing, you are allowed to punch him in the face. Just make sure you knock him to the ground with the first punch. And whatever you do, don't let any grownups see you."
Sure enough, he cornered me with his minions at recess the following day. After telling him I'd had enough and he needed to stop or I would punch his face out, he continued. I punched him in the face and knocked him out. Cold. He laid on his back in nasty standing rain water, his cronies mocking him for getting knocked out by a girl. The black eye had already started to form. He never bothered me again. And, of course, he never told a soul.
That was the first time I used the white dandelion for its true purpose. I let go of my fear. I had over a foot and probably 50 pounds on that squirt, but I allowed him to control how I felt about myself. I allowed him to make me feel inferior. Never again.
I faced my next dandelion at age 29. After five and a half years in a mentally, emotionally, verbally, and sexually abusive marriage, I asked my parents for help. (Is anyone seeing a developing pattern?) I needed to leave, but I didn't know how. I didn't know who that strong girl who punched a kid to the ground had gone, but I knew I wanted her back. I made the decision to leave on Mother's Day in 2012, which coincided with my niece's first birthday. When my husband went camping that following Monday, I took my most prized possessions and left. I drove to San Diego, took a leave of absence from work, and never looked back. I just let go. I had no plan. No place to stay. No money. But I blew on that dandelion and knew it would be okay.
During the ensuing three years, I moved six times. I changed jobs four times. I gave away everything I owned except for those few prized possessions. I could fit my life in my car. But I did it anyway. I went to therapy and relived a pain I didn't think I could remember. I learned new terms like PTSD, GAD, MDD, guided imagery, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, triggers, safe place. I learned what music I liked, what food I liked, how I wanted to wear my hair, how I wanted to dress, I learned how to be alone. And I bought stock in Kleenex....or I should have.
I lived in Los Angeles, had killer hair, had lost 80 pounds, and loved it. I lived with roommates I adored. Then something started calling me to Fresno. I hated Fresno. My pain lived in Fresno. The feeling never relented. I got sick, very sick. Things at work became unbearable. I moved home, started seeing my therapist again, lived with my mother again. We didn't know how to live together. We butted heads. I finally gave up my apartment in LA. I blew out that white dandelion. I moved in with a new roommate and shared a bathroom. YUCK! I started working at a feel-good job. I made half as much as I made in LA. My boss started nagging me to go on a date with this guy she knew. I refused. I refused for six months.
Then I went bowling. In May 2015 I went bowling to shut her up. To shut everyone up and live my quiet, sad, solitary life.
On November 14th of that same year, I wore this necklace. Inside are little white dandelion "petals," preserved in a little acrylic sphere.
That day was my wedding day to that goofy guy I was forced to spend an evening bowling with. We both went to prove everyone wrong, just to blow out a dandelion and let it go. It backfired, but I learned that, in letting go, the best things come to us.
Today I spent some time on the phone with a dear friend. She's my best friend, actually. She finalized her divorce today. She stands where I stood five years ago. We laughed together, we cried together, and we talked about how meeting in Honors English 9 twenty years ago this fall was another great dandelion moment. We also talked about how we never could have imagined in a million years that our friendship could have survived three marriages (total), two divorces, two children, college, and cancer. She just saw a smart, mouthy girl that she could commiserate with about journal writing. That journal writing fostered a love for the written word in me and a friendship that has endured the unspeakable. That is the best dandelion of all.
That English teacher knows who she is. She knows I hated those journals. She knows I thought writing about my weekends, my thoughts on grizzly bears and other seemingly random topics was a total waste of time, ink, and paper. What she may not know is that it created a lifelong friendship and probably saved my life. So thank you. Thank you for my best dandelion of all. The ability to be myself through the written word. The ability to survive the unthinkable, come out on top, and tell my best friend she will do the same. Thank you for giving me the tools I needed to blow out the most difficult dandelion of all - the ability to be myself.
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