My dad and I have very different memories of who tended the rose garden in our backyard. I claim I had to weed, water and prune the rose garden all through my childhood. He claims he did the weeding, watering and pruning. My claim of tending the garden is based on my presence in the garden, whereas I believe my dad is basing his claim on actual work completed.
(We are both lawyers, and I will admit he has the stronger argument, and the fact that my dad still tends to our gardens weakens my argument even further. I am, however, still working on my closing argument.)
Even with dozens of rose bushes that had to be cared for, I still like roses. I don’t quite trust people who say they don’t like roses. And there are far too many of you.
It’s such an odd stance to take (unless you have allergies, in which case I will make an allowance). Why does liking something require opposition to everything else? You can like a different flower more and still like roses. My favorite flower, for example, is not the rose, but the pansy. In grade school, I discovered that a boy announcing that he had a favorite flower and that flower was the pansy can make for a very long school year. Even so, I can recognize the beauty of a rose.
Portland’s International Rose Test Garden June 2011