The child crosses the road. She drags a balloon dog, the kind with folded foil legs, not the interlooped body, which bounces along the tarmac behind her, it’s back end sagging. Her mother is calling to her from the other side.
Why do we buy them balloons? Because they want them. But it’s an odd gift. Impermanent, like plucked flowers. We know that the child will have to deal with the loss of the balloon at some point. Is it to familiarise them with death? Perhaps we do that so there’s less work to do when that day inevitably comes. Hard to explain the inexorable march of time and its consequences to a five-year-old. Easier to buy them a balloon.
Paddy Dobson
10th August 2021