Mother Wasp

                The searing pain struck suddenly. I dropped the garden hose that I was about to put away and squeezed my throbbing hand. Then I see my assailant-a black wasp, flying up from the ivy towards me.

                "Go away!" I screeched. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do anything bad to you!" My neighbor noticed a tiny nest nestled in the ivy next to my hose rack, and he quickly knocked it down. Mother wasp flew away.

                Later I picked up the tiny nest. In the holes were two yet-unborn creatures and a baby wasp. The mother had lashed out at me when my hand threatened her nest of babies. The material instinct chased me away, but the babies died anyway. I felt sorry for her, and for her little babies whom she was trying to protect.

                When we feel threatened, we lash out, too. What am I trying to protect and defend?  My children? My pride? My reputation? My right to privacy?

                A woman barks at me when I accidentally bump her grocery cart in the aisle. I don't know that she is drowning in debt, and the food in the cart I so callously bumped is all she can afford to feed her children, until the end of the month. I know she is hurting, because she just hurt me.

                "I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.

                Her face softens for just a second. No longer the mean-looking woman who yelled at me, she hears me repeat, "I'm sorry." I don't expect anything in return and I get nothing, but perhaps I have at least buffered her day. And loved my neighbor.