When I was little, I remember adoring wishing flowers, plucking them gently from our lawn so as not to free any of the pods early. Inhaling deeply and then blowing out in one big breath in attempt to blow all the seeds free from their stalk, into the wind to make a wish.
The promises made in imagination to myself that I cannot even begin to recall now.
Far more clearly in my memory as the white fluff of the seeds peacefully floated across the crisp green lawn, was the gruff yell of my father "stop doing that." Of course to him the seeds were weeds and not wishes.
As I watched these two make a wish together I also made a wish, that all children be lucky enough to get fathers who can see wishes instead of weeds.