A Tale of Two Balloons

He had me tie the yellow balloon to the red one, in the young, optimistic hope that the red balloon, still high on the helium of balloon life, would pull the yellow one up and help it to float.  But the yellow balloon didn't rise much.  No, instead its drooping weight pulled, dragging the happy red one down.

"Cut it off, Mommy!  At least the red one should float," he exclaimed with the simplistic, albeit fickle, certainty that five year olds are so blessed with.  And so I cut the yellow balloon loose and watched as it quickly sank, releasing that red balloon back to its full potential.  He cheered.

But I felt a twinge of sadness, thinking about how many people are like those two balloons.  How often some joyful soul finds itself tethered to a negative weight that just drags it down.  How much more complicated it is when contemplating the cutting of those strings.  The choice is never so sure and easy with people, and yet the illustration seems sound, and so very tragic.  Why should that red balloon be pulled down, potential lost?

But if the ties were to be severed... What of the sad, yellow balloon?  It is sinking under its own weight, but why?  Is it solely to blame for being the way that it is?  Were there influences, predisposed conditions that the poor yellow balloon just could not overcome?  What of history, family, love?  What about obligations, vows?  Responsibility and guilt, deserved or otherwise, are invisible strings, harder to really see, much more difficult to sever.  But if they are not, how long before the joy and life is drained of them both?

He just came to see me again as I pondered these questions, the now-deflated yellow balloon slack and shriveled across the small palms that carried it reverently.  "It died," he said softly, sadly.

But after a single, grieving moment, he was off- running toward his room, red balloon streaming behind him proud and strong, soaring high on a five year old whoop of joy, helium, and the breath of hope.