There was a little boy who loved. He loved his parents and his older siblings and when his little sisters came along he loved them too. He loved the chickens in the yard and the dogs and the little brown birds that came to his house’s roof. And he loved the plants in their garden and tended them; the plants outside his classroom too. He loved his books and the toys he had and he loved to share. He loved his house and when they had to move, he loved his new house too.
And he loved other people too. He loved the rich girl who lived across the street and he loved the carpenter’s children who lived right next by. He loved the girl whose nose was always runny at kindergarten and played with her and he even loved the kids who didn’t want to play with her. And he loved his teachers and his classmates and the friends he made at school. And he loved his little Sunday school friend. Yes, he loved his friends without caring about their shape, their size, and their color.
Perhaps a little more than everything else, he loved to learn new things. He learned how to read first, and then how to write, then to count, and finally how to learn. He loved to know which plant is which from its flower or leaves or stalk. He loved to scour through books and learn throughout time, of what makes up what, or who, where, how and why. And so he learned fast.
Soon, 11 years passed and everything stopped and were out of their place. See, he who loved everything in his quaint little town had to move miles away to a big scary city. True it was for learning even more than he had and he could come back home two times a year. But he was alone and without family and he was sad because he was asked to leave the things he loved for some other thing he loved and for his future he’ll need. So now he’s had to learn how to grow, but he did not have to love that too.