"Jason?", says the tiny child, reaching up-up-up on his tippy-toes to touch Jason McCann's face. "I am only young, and yet even I can feel your goodness. What is your secret?".
Jason McCann doesn't reply when people ask him questions like that, even if it's tiny children on their tippy-toes. He just smiles at them, and gives them a flower out of his pocket (e.g. a daisy or a tiny wild rose).
You see, Jason McCann is sensitive. Flowers, tiny children, lost people, the old, tired, wounded and sore, flock to Jason McCann. From him, they draw strength. In him, they find a home; a father-confessor; a safe haven from pain and harm.
If you are looking for Jason McCann and you cannot find him, look first for a cloud of delicate butterflies, humming birds and tiny pretty animals (think Snow White), and you will, inevitably, find him at their centre, muttering gentle words into their soft receiving ears. Yes. Jason McCann is so sensitive, that even the shyest of animals seek refuge in his folds.
What else is Jason McCann? He is the human equivalent of your favourite comforter, washed in delicious-smelling organic fabric conditioner (that is not made partially from beef fat), folded at the end of a clean bed. He is your favourite novel (the one about ponies and riding to Olympic victory for England). He is warm milk and cookies, hot toast and jam, a nice cup of tea and a gigantic gin-and-tonic, all rolled up into one remarkably handsome man: the man that is - and always will be - Jason McCann.
My name is Jason McCann and I will assume you aren't talking about me:D
ReplyDeleteJustine BIeber has destroyed the name and buried any hope of googling me! Arghhhh. Nice post also:)