The little yellow butterfly

I was just a little girl then, my hand placed firmly in that of my beloved dad. His hand was a strong and confident one as he guided me around our yard and with absolute gentility he would stop to catch a poor unsuspecting little butterfly and as gentle as a kitten, he would place it in the palm of my outstretched hand.

Before doing this, however, Dad would tell me what to expect and what he was going to do. First, he would tell me to stand still and not make a sound. Then he would tell me that he was going to try and catch a little butterfly for me and that he would do his best to catch a yellow one because he knew that yellow was my favorite color. Then, after he had placed it in the palm of my tiny hand, I was to remain as still as a mouse while he described the butterfly to me.

So, as described above, it happened. I stood as still as a mouse while Dad went butterfly hunting. When he captured his intended little victim, he would whisper to me that he had it and that he wanted me to put out my hand, and presto! He was then placing it, oh so gently, into the palm of my hand.

Then Dad and I would stand there with me holding the little yellow butterfly and Dad describing it to me. On most occasions the butterfly did not move. It would lie quietly in the palm of my hand breathing gently and looking around. Dad would describe everything to me; its color, its size, its movements, and he even spiced things up by describing the butterfly's expressions to me. I even believed this last description.

That was so long ago but these tender memories of me, the little yellow butterfly, and my beloved dad shall always be in my memory bank. Thank you, Dad, for having helped to enrich my childhood in such a unique way. These are memories that were formed through your eyes as my sight was not good enough to do the job.

I'm Donna J. Jodhan your friendly accessibility advocate wishing you a terrific day and inviting you to come by and enjoy my audio mysteries at www.donnajodhan.com/store.html.

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