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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The other night we took a pottery class and I wish I could convey…the excitement we both felt with our hands immersed in clay. In some ways we felt like kids again…perhaps that’s the appeal…as we began to play in the mud…upon the potter’s wheel. Sitting on my stool or at the table where I stood I was struck how working with the clay…is a lot like parenthood. When you first come face-to-face with the clay you feel so unprepared…you have no idea what you’re doing…you’re excited…and you’re scared. You know you have to do something because deep down you understand…whatever happens to this clay…is totally in your hands. And so you take a deep breath, perhaps smile at your wife…and then you jump right in…at first trying your best just to hold on as your world begins to spin. The clay seems to have a mind of its own…it’s not going as you planned…and it’s only when you relax that you feel the clay conforming to your hands. You do your best to feel your way…you squeeze, you push, you pull, you scrape...and eventually right before your eyes…the clay takes on a shape. As the clay keeps spinning and spinning…you’re always on your guard…hoping you’re not pulling too softly…or pushing way too hard. When you’ve done all you can…you stop to look at the creation you’ve just thrown...hoping you’ve created something that can stand up on its own. And whenever you see what you’ve help make…your smile is as wide as a Cheshire Cat…as you proudly whisper to yourself…”I had a hand in that!” And you’re proud to see how tall your children have grown on they’re grown…still…every time you see their face…you smile…knowing they wouldn’t have grown so tall…if you hadn’t built their base.
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