Give Me All of Your Buttons

Let Me Make Them Speak…

Courtesy of WallpapersWide.Us.

Donovan! Where are my buttons?”

In the still of a cool night, Donovan’s Mom shouted from the top of her lungs. Her 7-year-old son likes to be creative with buttons, her buttons, all of them. He is what one would call, “gifted.” Everyone in the neighborhood saves their extras for him. Sheila isn’t too keen on having her buttons used in this way, though. She would prefer Donovan use his time wisely. And being wise at his age, is all that matters most to her.

“I took them. I am making something beautiful with them. You had three colors that I wanted, Mom.

Blue.
Pink.
Purple.

They have made my latest piece of art pop.”

Who taught him this phrase, “pop?” And, in this context? He used it perfectly, knowing exactly what he wanted and why. His need for the buttons has a purpose.

A Purpose.

“I have two ideas. One, a helicopter. The other, a heart. A very big heart, Mom. Because the world needs a little more love.”

“Okay, Donovan. That’s nice. I need those buttons, though. One goes to my fedora blue and gray hat. The other, to my coat (the middle button too, *sighs* it’s always the middle button). The other, my house robe. I need all of those buttons, sweetie. Now, get them and bring them to me.

“But. I cannot. I have already glued them to the heart. They’re home now. No one can remove them. Glued, Mom. Gorilla glued.”

“What?!?! Why are you using the Gorilla Glue? *Lord, I cannot with this child. I simply cannot* Donovan, please go and get this thing you’re talking about. Lemme see what mess I’ll have to clean up now.”

Sheila, knowing nothing of Donovan’s latest pastime, was not prepared for what she would see next. Donovan hastened to his room, carefully picked up the canvased product, walked slowly down the hall, and met his Mom’s gaze with an inquisitive, yet thoughtful smile.

“This is the heart, Mom. See? The colors are exactly where I want them to be. Notice how my reds merge into pinks. See how the purples soothe the yellows? And, the blues! Just look at the blues! Isn’t this a lovely heart, Mom?”

Sheila took a seat. Her heart sank. A smile crossed her face, followed by a single tear. She understood completely why Donovan needed the buttons. Suddenly, her want for them disappeared.

“Donovan, I… I am sorry for…”

“It’s okay, Mom. You have a big heart. You do too much. You need a little more love too. So this one, it’s yours.”

The air around Sheila manifested in a way that sung only the sweetest songs and Donovan watched her as another tear and another and another fell from her eyes.

“This one’s yours.”

Sheila sat with the buttoned heart, rocking her legs back and forth, coddling the craft of wonder her son conjured up.

“And, you are mine.”