When I was around four I had a friend. I don’t remember his name or how we met. But, I do remember how he looked.
He was very plump and green. His eyes were gentle and knowing.
Each morning Mr. Frog would wait for me by the fence. I would jump out of bed pulling my clothes on and eating my breakfast quick, quick, quick. Then, I would run over the dew covered grass to greet him, my dear friend.
Mr. Frog and I would sit all day in the shade of the porch telling our most secret of secrets to one another. I don’t remember the secrets. I remember the telling.
I can still feel the weight of my friend in my small hands and of the love in my heart. I carried him gently and our time together is a great memory for me. At the end of each day, I would tell my friend it was time for him to go.
I would carry him back to the hole in the fence and gently push his bottom until he jumped through. As I told my mother, Mr. Frog had a Mrs. Frog and lots of baby frogs that needed him. They needed him more than I and because of that I let him go each day back to them.
I remember knowing that he would be there waiting for me each and every morning. I don’t know how or why that frog sat by that fence waiting for me. I don’t remember the first time I found him there or the last time I carried him back to the hole in the fence to send him home. I only remember the days in between.
I had a very vivid imagination as a child. I still do. So, I wondered if Mr. Frog was real. Around fifteen I was telling my mother about these memories of a Mr. Frog. According to my Mom, Mr. Frog was real.
She told me stories about how I would chase her through the house trying to get her to say hello to him. She was afraid because she said he was not a little frog. He was a big ‘ole frog of frogs. She said I would chase her through the house holding him with both hands and he was so big that his legs would dangle way down. She told me that she, herself, did not understand how this frog was always waiting for me. It was strange.
I, also, have an aunt that he met up close and personal. She was not very happy to have Mr. Frog see her in her birthday suit! I suppose the fact that she was taking a shower at the time explains a lot. I am sure that never in her wildest dreams did she expect a Mr. Frog to be joining her in this shower. I figured out too late that this was not the best way for Mr. Frog to say hello.
Things I learned from my friendship with Mr. Frog:
Frogs don’t give you warts.
If you kiss a frog, he does not turn into Prince Charming.
We can understand other animals if we really listen with our hearts.
We build up walls to keep out the magic in life as we grow older.
Strange to have had a best friend that was frog. Hmmmm. Maybe, my love of this frog is what brought me to my French husband. In a sense, I found him by a fence and brought him home.
Now, I have my own French frog to spend my days with and tell my secret of secrets. And, each day instead of sending him away, my Mr. Frog stays home with this Mrs. Frog and his little tadpoles.