As a child, I watched my father pull that bright yellow flower. A weed, he said it was. “They send their roots down deep and strong. Dandelions!” Well, I wondered, what’s so wrong with that? That brilliant splash of color outside my window made me happy. “They grow, and then they spread. Before you know it,” he said, “you’ve got a patch of ‘em, taking over everything.” Today, they told me we are moving, far across the country, leaving this place we’ve called home. My roots are deep in this earth. I have flourished in this garden. Like the dandelion, my strength will fade to nothing, and I fear the world will never see my bright yellow blossom.