"Daddy why do bees have to sting?" cried the little blondie who had flung herself at her father's legs.
He picked her up, sat in the big chair, cradling her in his lap.
"Well baby girl, it's like this," he started. "You know how God created the earth and every living thing. There in the garden, the bees and insects, they didn't bite..." "Did the spiders bite?" she interrupted him.
Frowning, daddy shook his head no, raising his eyebrows and asked "Do you want to hear the story?" She nodded her head and settled back against his shoulder. Daddy began again, "Everything changed when man disobeyed God and ate the fruit from a tree he said was a no no. Do you remember what it means when you do something you have been told not to?"
The little blondie pulled her dollie away her face and nodded sadly. "It means ya git a spankin'" She answered him suspiciously.
The Father chuckled and explained, "Sometimes it does mean that you will be punished and sometimes that means you will be spanked. This time, it meant that Adam and Eve had to leave the beautiful place in the garden they called home. Then everything in the world changed. Things that were once good, now became dangerous. Flowers that were pretty became poisonous. Animals that used to play started to attack. The whole world changed when sin became the ruler of earth."
"And that's what made bees sting me? 'Cuz its a sinner?" she questioned with tears still wetting her lashes.
"Well not exactly," he told her. "See to begin with bees did not have a stinger. But as humans started having more babies, there was more people than bees. And sometimes naughty children ran around deliberately stomping on the helpless bees..."
"I bet it was the boys," she interrupted again, sitting up. "Boys always do mean things"
Her father lowered his eyebrows once more into his predictable "hairy eye" glares. Blondie settled back in his lap. "Do you want me to finish the story or not?" he asked her, then added "Sometimes girls do mean things too. But back to the story, the families of the bees were very upset to see their family be stomped on by more and more bad boys AND girls. So finally, they decided the Queen Bee would have to go speak to God the Creator. She was so scared to be in the presence of the One who created them all...both human and Bees. But she explained what was happening and asked that Father God intercede on behalf of all her honeybee family."
"What did God say?" as Blondie sat up straighter and wrapped her arms around daddy's neck.
|I remember this day. The sun was in my eyes. And I LOVED|
my "swirly" dress.
"Well God thought about it and then he told her, 'you are correct for bringing this to my attention. It is a bad thing for my human children to be mean and stomping on your family. From now on, I am granting you ONE weapon against the bad children. You will grow a point at the end of your tail. When you are in danger, you may use it to stab the person or thing that is frightening you."
"What?!" Little blondie exclaimed. "God told the bees to sting us? That's not right!" she announced offended. "I was just walking through the yard and it crawled up my leg and stung me!" Her tears quivered at the surface.
"I know sweetheart, that is why God added one more thing. He told the Queen Bee that he loved his children, and did not want to see the Bees take advantage of this new weapon against his people. They were to use it only to protect themselves, and not to attack. So he told the Queen, a bee may only use it's stinger once. And then the bee must die. Because man is created after HIS image and He could not allow bees to attack without punishment. The Queen did not like this addition, but she understood he did not want bees attacking mankind. They could only use their stinger in defense."
"But the Queen Bee raised an objection. What about the bees that are being stomped on. They are not attacking, they will be defending themselves. Why must they die?"
"Father God nodded. It's not fair is it? One dies because he was a bad bee and the other dies as a good bee doing his job when some bratty kid ran by and stomps on him. Everything is different now. Sometimes what is good is also bad. We must always remember to be careful in our choices."
"Father God was not finished. He explained to the Queen that after a few different kids got stung really hard, the word would get out. Don't stomp on a bee or you will get hurt. Sometimes ONE must die so the others may live." The father wiped the little blondie's eyes with his handkerchief. "Does that make you feel better?"
|This was the summer of my bee stings, and that is|
my younger sister "the brat" in her diaper next to me.
She's just going to LOVE this photo. lol
Blondie looked up at her daddy and told him, "It don't make my ankle feel no gooder at all. But I think it's good that the Bee is going to DIEEEEE!" Blondie growled her answer in true cartoon drama.
"Oh child, you are a little too happy about that, but I guess being stung 3 times in 3 weeks might make anyone happy about a dead bee. Let's go soak your foot in Epsom salts. That will make your ankle feel gooder." Blondie wrapped her arms around her daddy's neck as he carried her to the kitchen, and started the process of making her ankle feel gooder.
This was the story my father told me during the summer before my 5th birthday. Carefree children running bare foot through the grass and squealing with the delight of summer's joy did not watch for honeybees in the grass. That summer I had the misfortune of being stung about 7 times over the summer months, and 3 times in 3 weeks. I had a slight allergic reaction to the first which grew with each consequent sting. The offended body part - usually a foot or ankle - would swell like a football. Then I had to spend a number of days with it soaking in Epsom salts and having Daddy rub tobacco over the stinger wound. (It was said to draw out the toxin) By the end of that three week period, I would be sitting with both ankles in an Epsom salts bath. And oh heavens, the swelling would itch until I was cranky and crying. I know if there had been benadryl available in 1964 my mother would have gladly used it to
Daddy never meant for this story to be anything but entertaining and comforting when I was getting stung repeatedly over that summer. Mom told me I must smell like a flower to the bees. Never met a 4 and half year old that smelled like flowers while playing in the yard, but at the time I accepted that must be the reason they kept stinging me.
|One more because I was darned cute. lol |
Oh I loved that dress!