Grandma’s Eyes

Ever wonder how many things we’ve missed? Ever wonder how many things we’ve passed by in a hurry to accomplish other things, hardly slowing down to smell the roses? I guess that is life. Life is what we make of it. We go through life in a hurry, chasing one goal for another. I captured this mural in downtown Toronto, Harbourfront, and I couldn’t help but notice her eyes. She had the eyes of an African grandmother worried about her children. In Africa, abled grandmothers still take a primary role in raising children. The wrinkles on her face were filled with years of wisdom, pain, and experience. She wonders what her children are up to. Africa is Africa. Wild yet free. Tough yet home. Mother is always there, protective, even when she is angry. Big cities are the same – wild yet free. Tough, yet can be home. Toronto has some of the best street art that I have seen. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice how grandma’s eyes kept looking at us, worrying as we passed her by, unseen and unnoticed. I feel like she wonders, what could be so important that lets us experience life so hurriedly?

The eyes are powerful. Sometimes our eyes speak louder than our words. They say things our hearts ache to express but have no guts to utter. I think of the eyes as a gateway to our soul. It tells our intent. I believe grandma is looking at us, painfully saying:

“Slow down and smell the roses; slow down and appreciate life.”

So maybe as we celebrate Black History Month, we take time to slow down, appreciate life, and smell the roses. This is what grandma may want.