A long, long time ago—long before Carolina had even been introduced as a minor character in my story, I was living in an unmitigated paradise. Surrounded by family—a kind and beautiful mother, a stern yet loving father—my days were an endless parade of contentments. Blessed with so much, I’d been fortunate enough to live in a world where “unhappiness” had been nothing but a vague concept.
“Flora, darling, come here,” my mother, Karen Sanchez, called out, her hand beckoning me towards the cooling shade of a grand old tree. The gentle breeze played with her lustrous, raven-black hair as she invited me into her little haven, solace from the fierce summer sun.
Obediently, I trotted over to her side, and she adjusted the straw hat tied around my neck, positioning it perfectly over my head. “Remember what Mama always tells you about your hat? We have to keep it in the right place to protect your beautiful skin. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it, now would we?” With my hat securely shading my face once again, she gave me a radiant smile. “There we go. My, my, how pretty you look today, Flora.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I replied, my fingers instinctively reaching out to adjust my hat, pleased that it was identical to the one that she wore.
Today was the day of an eagerly anticipated picnic, and I was excited beyond words. In my glee, I hadn’t even noticed when my hat had slipped from my head. I resolved to pay more attention, clutching the brim with both hands—I was determined not to let it slip away again! I was certain that if I just held my hat in place, it would stay positioned exactly like Mama’s—the perfect countermeasure to ensure that it wouldn’t slip again, or so the young me thought. It was at that moment that Mama retrieved her pocket watch from her dress. “We have more time than I anticipated. Why don’t we do something delightful before we eat our lunch? Any ideas, darling?”
My mama knew how quickly I became restless; her suggestion was just another token of her endless affection. I couldn’t contain my excitement. “There’s lots of flowers over there! I want to make a flower crown!”
“Why, that sounds lovely,” she replied, a nostalgic gleam in her eyes. “A flower crown. It’s been years since I last made one.” She set her eyes on the nearby hillside, blanketed with multicolored blooms, and gracefully rose to her feet.
As she set off to craft a crown fit for her cherished daughter, my father, lounging beside the picnic basket, pointedly cleared his throat. “I think I’ll stay here and keep an eye on our belongings,” he announced, neatly excusing himself from a task he clearly felt unsuited for. He pointedly and firmly kept his posterior planted upon the ground as a resounding echo of that sentiment.
Mama responded with a playful shrug of her shoulders. “We have servants for that, you know.”
“I... I’m aware,” Father replied, only a little stiffly.
“This is a rare day out for all of us, love,” Mama pointed out with a dazzling smile. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Father grunted, his face pulling into a conflicted expression as he mulled over his wife’s cajoling words.
“Or perhaps is it that you don’t want to make any happy memories with your family?” she continued with the barest hint of a pout.
Father’s eyes widened in alarm. “Of course I do! Lots of them! Memories with you and our little girl are my greatest treasures,” he blurted out insistently, shaking his head vehemently in denial of her accusation.
Mama’s smile broadened, satisfied by the success of her tactics; Father had responded just as she had anticipated. “Then that means you’ll join us, won’t you?” She extended a hand to him invitingly.
Caught in a gentle trap of Mama’s making, Father paused momentarily, eyeing her outstretched hand. He then took it with a resigned yet affectionate smile, acknowledging the subtle power she wielded over him—power that he seldom resisted (unless it threatened to distract him from his work, of course). “Let’s set off, then,” Mama said cheerfully, leading the way towards the hillside, her enthusiasm contagious.
We hurried to keep up with her despite the heat of the bright summer sun. As we reached the sea of wildflowers, Mama said, “It’s even more beautiful up close, isn’t it?”
“There’s an untamed charm to them,” Father admitted. “Quite different from the manicured bouquets we often see at home.”
They both crouched down to get a closer look at the flowers. “I think these will make a fine crown,” Mama said with satisfaction.
“Indeed,” Father concurred, then added in a curious tone, “But how exactly does one make a flower crown?”
Mama looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment. “Really, there are things you don’t know, dear?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How unexpected.”
“I’m curious to know exactly when during my life you think I might have gained such a skill,” Father retorted with an exasperated shrug.
Mama giggled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tease. It’s not often I get to experience the excitement of knowing something that you do not, so I was genuinely surprised.” She plucked two flowers, one pink, one green, and she began to deftly weave their stems together. “Let me show you how simple it is to make one—it’ll be my way of making up for mocking you so scandalously.”
From that point, Mama became a gentle tutor in crafting flower crowns, guiding my father through each step with patience and clarity. Despite being new to this art, quick learner that he was, my father managed to create a crown on his first attempt—though it was admittedly a bit rudimentary in its aesthetic. In a way, however, that was uniquely reflective of him. Most importantly, he was there, fully engaged and sharing in the moment with us, and that was what truly mattered the most.
As I presented the flower crowns I had made to my parents, even at that tender age, I sensed the significance of the moment. The crowns were far from perfect, but my parents received them with genuine joy. The smiles we shared that day are etched in my memory, vivid and bright. I remembered smiling back at them, my heart overflowing with love, knowing that we had created a shining memory that would endure within the secret depths of my heart.