Balancing on a ladder between the dirt and sky, the little boy looks up. He sees his father with the men, his smiling, sweating face urging him on.
“I’m going to the top,” he cries and takes another rung.
He is excited and just a little scared. His eyes are on his father’s arms, stretched out to receive him–he’s halfway there!
But a cloud passes over the sun and his father’s grin fades. The boy turns to see his mother, the frown in her eyes and on her lips.
“He’s just a baby! He’ll fall!” she cries.
The boy looks down . . . so far down; his legs tremble and tears start. She reaches up her arms and he leans into the safety of them.
The young man is on his ladder between the dirt and sky. The ladder of his life; he yearns to be a sculptor. He’s on the third step; there are so many ahead. Will he reach his goal?
He is excited, and a little scared.
Then the young woman smiles at him.
“Not that ladder–this one,” she tells him. She points to the firm stepladder and the label that reads “Accountant.” That ladder is anchored strong and sure on the ground. She holds out her hands and he takes them.
“It’s safer this way,” she says.
The young boy asks his grandmother, “Why did you throw that ladder away?”
With a smile and outstretched hand, the old lady answers him.
“It didn’t reach the sky,” she says.
