“You’re like daffodils!” he said at the end of his text.
“And you’re like periwinkles!” I shot back.
Not sure exactly what I was comparing him to, he googled.
“Periwinkle blue is the color for esophageal and stomach cancer awareness month. Also hypertension awareness month. Thank you very much!” he replied.
Later in the day he called me from the car on his way to cover yet another meeting –this driven Brooklyn-born reporter of mine. Always on the move.
“You sound pretty chipper,” I said.
“That’s because I’m talking to you. You’re like daffodils.”
Then he meandered down memory lane a little… “I used to give my mother daffodils once in a while,” he mused. When I’d shovel snow or something –earn some money. We got along awful, but sometimes I’d buy her daffodils. I liked them.”
This manly man who used to smoke cigars and ride a motorcycle – who tossed the F word around like a gangster in a Mafia movie – liked daffodils.
In the middle of his childhood — a childhood about which I knew very little except that he’d had to “become a pirate” at a very early age—had come graceful yellow daffodils. For his mother.