Striking Gold

Striking Gold


I’m standing at the sink loading the dishwasher, my green eyes wandering, long brown hair pulled to the crown of my head in a pony tail, and I’m reminiscing on life. Life. Such a small word; four letters to be exact, but the small word has such a profound impact on us. The word can cause a plethora of mixed emotions, debates large and small, pain and suffering for some, joy for others. The little word can cause fear and anxiety and also cause feelings of anxiousness and anticipation. Life.

The life that I am recalling is that of a child. Life as I knew it way back when. I remember exploring my new house, walking around throughout it tapping on walls in hopes of finding a secret passage way. I had always wanted a huge home with a lot of doorways; doorways that magically open only when the right hand touches it. That hand of course being mine. When I would touch the door just a certain way, the door would reveal its contents. A huge treasure box filled with gold and silver, unbelievable jewels would surface, and riches beyond anyone’s wildest imagination, including that imagination of a young child. I may have to overcome bones and traps in order to receive my treasure, but it was well worth the risk as only I had the ability and magnified power to accomplish this feat. See, I was a special person; a true treasure seeker. None had the talent and the heart that I did. I would be able to jump through flames, venture out the strangest of beasts, free myself from any trap, and still claim victor without a scratch on me.

In my mind I was tough and skilled. I was magnificent. Every person in the town was jealous of my skills and they all longed to be like me. I was a hero and in finding the treasure I was able to free my mom and dad from all of their financial stresses. I only had to work hard to accomplish this and in my mind hard work was well worth the pay off.

When the doorways only led to bedrooms, I did not give up. Maybe my house was just another house in Muskegon, but that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t find my treasure elsewhere. Wherever I roamed, my eyes were peeled, on the lookout for a possible cave or crevice that I could find the buried treasure to. I refused to believe that there was no such thing as treasure chests filled with the richest of riches. Sometimes life can overpower us. It can be healing to think back on our inner child’s wild imaginations and remember the feelings of bravery, confidence, and know how. As a child, I was strong, brave, energetic, and able.

As I am standing here doing the dishes thinking about where my imagination from my childhood went, I dropped something very important to me. I dropped the plastic insert to my son’s sippy cup. I cannot find the little thing anywhere. That insert is what makes my son able to drink without choking. He has a problem swallowing and that small piece of plastic is what keeps my baby able to drink fluids without worry of his lungs filling up with liquid. It probably only costs ten cents for the manufacturers to make, but it means a life to me. I am searching frantically trying to find it. My heart is racing in my chest as I am moving dishes from sink to sink, some to the dishwasher, in order to find a possible place where that small piece of plastic went. I am getting more frantic by the minute. My adrenaline is rushing, the tears well up in my eyes, and my hands are shaking. I need to find the thing! I wonder if it went down the drain. I move the drain plugs hoping and praying that I find it. What happened to the days when life was so easy; when all I was concerned with was searching for the treasure?

Wait… what is this? Can it be? Yes, I think it is. It may not be the exact way I had imagined it as a child, but the excitement does not cease. I just struck gold!

Isn’t it funny how life changes?


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