The Ant Story

Roselle Park, NJ, 1957.

Sitting next to a cinder-block wall which was painted white I watched as a big black ant struggled to carry a leaf twice its size. He labored up half a block, walked horizontally along the grout line, and then slowly tried to continue his vertical climb. Each time he just sort of wandered back down to the grout line and did what I interpreted as rested and then he tried and tried again. Finally I reached over and grasped the tiny leaf piece and tugged. He let go and immediately climbed the stark face of the wall. Just as he reached the top I placed the leaf in front of him, he took hold and carried it up over the lip of the wall all on his own.

Some folks would have watched him attempt the impossible and moved on, some would have never noticed and walked away as if nothing was happening around them, and some would have smashed the little bugger without a thought.  

When our almost impossible dream, struggle, quest, or whatever-it-is, is mirrored in the expectant eyes of someone else it’s hard not to put them out of their misery with the truth.

I don’t do that anymore because...well just because.