My May Basket
One first morning in May years ago I was sitting in my study getting school lunch money ready when someone pulled the door shut. Then I heard a knocking at the door. I opened it, no one was there. Hanging on the door knob was a red construction paper basket filled with fresh wood hyacinths and apple blossoms. At first I suspected my May Day surprise was from my eight years old daughter. Then I heard giggling from around the corner, the unmistakable giggling of my six year old son. I grabbed him and thanked him profusely and gave him his May Day kiss, much to his delight.
He told me that they had made the baskets and learned about May Day the day before in school. He had eagerly awaited this morning, had crept out of the house to pick the flowers when I was distracted by morning routines, had eagerly anticipated my surprise and happiness at his gift. He was so proud. For many years after he would say to me on May first, "Mom, remember when I gave you the May Basket?"
He's a sophomore in college now. The May Basket still hangs by a push pin from my study door, faded to a soft rose color, and every once in a while I'll find a little note or a flower tucked in it. He called this morning, and after the business portion of our conversation he asked once again, " Mom, remember the year I gave you the May Basket?".
Yes, Son. I remember it well.