A few days ago, my grandson, all of two years old, wanted to hug a tree. 

His father, a young man receptive to his child’s needs and desires, readily agreed.

Together, they found the closest tree. Excited, my grandson placed his little arms on the trunk of the tree, meaning to hug it. Sadly, a honey bee got there first and was located on the spot where the child placed his arms. The bee, threatened, bit him. The boy cried. The bee died.

Lesson learned? What lesson? That bees die after they bite? (Not all do) That we should avoid hugging trees, because they are potentially dangerous? That we have to check them carefully before hugging them? That trees are dangerous because they are filled with ants, spiders, squirrels, bears…bees? Filled with life! The horror!

Is hugging trees something that only dreamers of mad antinatural interactions do? 

Antinatural? So, isn’t hugging a tree an absolutely pro-natural act, celebratory of a deep desire to celebrate in the highest of cathedrals, the Cathedral of Mother Nature?

Ah! You do not believe in that kind of thing. Really? Let’s see: perhaps you don’t talk with cats and dogs? With flowers? Never sang to the moon? You have not heard the sound of the ocean when you place a sea-conch on your ear? You don’t do those things? Oh! I am sorry. That’s sad!

I believe that when a bee stings you the lesson is a different one, having to do with the recognition and the acceptance of the highs and lows that characterize our existence. A  continuous combination between comfort and discomfort, between dark and light.

Life is not an unchangeable continuous adventure. As the song says: “It changes. All changes!”.

We are not happy and relaxed every day. Neither are we sad and upset. We fluctuate. We adjust to our ever-changing circumstances.

As we learn through experience, life can be dangerous. Besides being beautiful. There the answer lies with that bee sting. Life hurts, but that is part of a learning process.

I recall an old saying, luckily becoming a discontinued thing of the past: “The letter with blood enters.” For many years, that phrase has been widely said in order to justify the use of physical violence as a teaching instrument.

Not all violence has been eliminated as a teaching tool. Many people still applaud and exult the virtues of “the flying chancla” (chancla: sandal), that nefarious projectile still used by many mothers in order to keep their children in line. To that pseudo-didactic arsenal, we could add the menace of the father’s belt, with or without buckle, plus the many varieties of tree branches, the kind that leave painful marks upon the skin of unlucky infant transgressors. Not to mention the scars left on their psyche.

There is a big difference between a bee sting (or a spider bite) and a punishment applied by an adult with a ruler, a shoe, a belt or a fist, disguised as a teaching tool for a child.

Spiders and bees react naturally, generally when they feel threatened. The blow given by an adult is a premeditated act. In my opinion, unnecessary, even cruel.

Children will respond to more intelligent and relaxed interactions. And something that they need to learn, with the wise guidance by the adults, is that -many times- life will hurt.

Rumor has it that my grandson observed his grandma hugging a tree.

That is quite possible, because us grandparents are -essentially- children returning. 

Freed from many (not all, for sure!) maternal/paternal responsibilities, we can now serve as allied agents for our grandchildren, thus establishing some kind of subversive transgenerational connection.

In the case of the grandson who hugged a tree, luckily all our diverse generations are in agreement. Nobody is at fault because the boy’s finger was stung by a bee. Stings happen!

We totally agree that hugging trees or talking on the phone with a cat is something normal. If needed, I can provide an example as to when my grandson last chatted on the phone with a cat, but I will only ask that you take my word for it. Have faith, disbelievers!

In the end, the main thing is to maintain our capacity to be in awe of this adventure called life and thus help the new generations to develop their imagination. At the same time, explain the how and why life is bittersweet. As when a bee stings us. Maybe on the same finger used to taste a bit of honey…which perhaps that defunct bee helped to make while alive?

Just now, my wife calls me from the other room, the one from which we can better observe the sun setting. She says, excited: “Wow! Come! There’s a crocodile in the sky!”.

How can I keep on writing? I have to go and see that crocodile! 

The crude and prosaic reality is the croc is a huge cloud in the shape of a crocodile. A pink and yellow crocodile, adorned by the last sun rays.

In these times, we seem to speak more with computers than we do face to face with other humans. Nevertheless, if we continue talking with animals, or with the clouds, or discovering that a bee sting can give birth to a poem, we might still be able to survive our own foolishness.