The “Weeds” of Summer

As some of you may have noticed, I did not publish a Father’s Day column last weekend. This was by intent. For those seven magical years growing up on Flamingo, I celebrated something with my dad that lasted much longer than a single day. 

The summers with dad.

Even though I write about him all the time, I must be honest. As I was growing up, didn’t really understand a lot of things my dad did or said. Now, as an adult, I look back on the time I spent with him and realize the meaning behind what he said was crystal clear. My young ears just couldn’t hear it. 

I received most of his pearls of wisdom and understanding of the world not on Father’s Day, but during the seven summers I spent alone with him while he worked. Walking the streets of downtown Atlanta during the heat of summer is something most folks around here avoid, but as a kid I looked forward to it every year. Because my brothers and The Sister never wanted to go, I had Dad all to myself. It was a special time in my life I look back on with fond memories, and I’ll never forget the important life lessons he tried to teach me during that time. Here are a few.   

Looks can be deceiving.

For seven summers I walked alongside my dad through the streets of downtown Atlanta. He was a door-to-door salesman for his own company, and he sold household goods to anyone who would buy them. This would range from refrigerators, tables, chairs, couches, fans, lamps, sheets and just about anything else one could find in a house. How anybody could make money doing such a thing I had no idea. Still, somehow, he provided for our family, was able to put us four kids through college, lived a comfortable life, and eventually retired. If you asked me at the time whether he’d be able to do any of those things, I would’ve said, “Doesn’t look like it to me.” But he did.

Best tasting weeds in town.

One day during our walk he paused, reached down, and picked a leaf from a weed growing out of the crack between the sidewalk and a building. Handing it to me, he said, “Here. Chew on this.” 

I objected, “Dad, I don’t really want to chew on a weed.”

He replied, “Trust me.” 

That “weed” was the leaf from a mint plant. I filled my pockets full of those leaves, chewing on them for the rest of the day. But the mint plant, which grows everywhere in downtown, wasn’t the only strange plant my dad introduced me to during the summers working with him. 

There’s a common weed that grows to six feet tall, has large, thick, green leaves, and a purple stalk along with purple berries. You can find it growing on the side of roads, or in most vacant lots. Around here it’s called poke salad. To me it just looked like a giant weed. And who would want to eat a weed? Dad said, “You can eat those young plants if prepared properly, but the older plants are poisonous.” 

The following summer he introduced me to another “weed” growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. Wood sorrel is a three-leaf plant that looks like clover, except its leaves are heart-shaped and taste very lemony – perfect to eat or drop in a glass of sweet tea. I have wood sorrel currently growing in my garden, and I pick some almost every day.   

For the last 50 years, I’ve also enjoyed having a mint plant growing in my garden. Last week I paused, reached down, and pinched off leaves and gave them to my two granddaughters to chew on. 

They protested, “Papa, we don’t want to chew on a weed!”

It took some convincing but finally they did, and they loved it just like I did back when I was their age. Then, I told them this story. No matter where I find it, each time I chew on one of the mint leaves, it takes me back to that summer of ‘69 walking with my dad on his route. I hope the leaves from the “weed” plant in our garden creates a similar memory for our Girly Girls.

During those summers my young ears heard the lessons he taught me, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. “Looks can be deceiving. Don’t judge a plant where it comes from, or just because you think it’s a weed, and not useful. Everything is useful in this world, but sometimes you just have to look closely to see it.”

As an adult I finally realized the wisdom of his words, and their true meaning went far past weeds growing in the cracks of a sidewalk in downtown Atlanta. 

Don’t judge people because of the way they look, the way they speak, or where they come from. If you look further, you’ll realize that everyone is unique in this world and may have hidden talents that will surprise you.