I don’t encourage
dropping eggs.
My son,
eager to explore,
asks for an exception.
Do I step in to
minimize the mess?
Or step back to
allow the learning?
Straws and tape,
and an hour later,
an egg enclosed
like a lunar lander,
takes its maiden voyage
off the second story deck.
My son’s smile flies high
as the egg plummets low.
His egg, his structure,
created by him,
untampered by me,
survives.
But even if it hadn’t,
his growing
Confidence
is worth the mess.
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