THING and Everything

Thing came home that day, like he did many times, sad but making the best of it. One or two of the kids at school, whose family had sent them out that day with a sandwich in their bag and learned hatred in their hearts, had given Thing an unusually hard time.

He knew he was different and apparently being different was a crime.

Perhaps if the school had been full of Things and maybe one or two humans, then they would have been the brunt of the unhappiness, not him, but why would he wish that on anyone.

So he did what he always did, he sat at the mouth of his cave and took pleasure in the hills and skies and sun, which belonged not to just humans but to each and every one.

Soon his sadness would lift, and he’d realize that he had a loving family and he was healthy and that was more than some poor souls ever had in their lives.

This story, by the way, takes place, a long, long time ago, when Thing’s granddad was still walking the Earth, and who was probably Thing’s best friend ever. He had spotted his grandson sitting by the cave, and that meant that his beloved boy had been walking through another hard day at school.

Granddad sat beside his lovely boy.

“How are you, my little one?”

Thing smiled. “I’m fine, Granddad, fine.”

“The kids been giving you a hard time, again?”

“Kinda,” said Thing.

Granddad put an arm around Thing. “I know they might all seem mean, but you got to understand some of those kids are fighting battles too. You come home to a loving family, whereas some of those kids ain’t got no one to fight their corner. And I know their name calling hurts but it isn’t always about you. They need to feel they belong and by calling out your difference to them, it makes them feel that they belong.”

“But Granddad…”

“I know what you’re gonna say, and you’re right, some are just plain mean, but not all of them. Maybe it’s just hard to tell them apart.”

Thing’s granddad snuggled up beside him.

“But look out there, look at the flowers and the grass and the hills and seas. All of them are  made up of the same things. If a rose could speak, do you think it would tell the grass that it didn’t want to be friends with it? No. It may look different, but everything inside it is the same.”

“I’m the same as humans, granddad?”

“Well not all of them, you are too kind, but basically yes, you are the same in every way.We are all the universe and the universe is us.”

“I don’t understand, granddad.”

“When great people are asked how they came to write a story, or compose a song or write the most beautiful love poem, they all point to their heads or their hearts, and they say ‘in there’ when they should be really pointing upwards. Out there. A song is just the universe singing, letting us know that it exists. A great love poem is just love being sent from the universe. We are all exactly the same, made of the same ingredients. Imagine, baking day, when your mum makes those lovely biscuits. She has water, flour, butter, and milk and she makes all those delicious bakes. All made from the same ingredients and all very different. Do you think a scone would tell a cream cake that it didn’t want to associate with it? Why would it? The only difference is how they were molded by the baker – or the universe in our case.”

“So my mum is the universe?”

Granddad smiled and hugged him.

“Of course she is.”

bobby stevenson 2019