The fake flowers on the morning school walk with my son triggered something

The fake flowers on the morning school walk with my son triggered something I didn’t expect — a small, bright flash of my own childhood.

We didn’t have many flowers growing around the farmstead. Winters killed everything. But I remember the frost on old plastic decorations in graveyards or churchyards, the way the crystals made the petals look almost real.

When my son brushed frost off those fake flowers, he wasn’t just noticing. He was caring. He was tending. He was honoring something small and overlooked.

Children do that — restore meaning to things adults dismiss.

It felt like watching my younger self reach through time and tap his shoulder.