When I was a child, I used to run around collecting dandelions. I would say, "mommy, mommy, let's go pick the pretty flowers." So we did. We picked as many dandelions as I could hold in my little hands and then brought them home to put them in a vase, because that's what they deserved. They were pretty flowers, after all.
When I was a teenager, I realized that dandelions are weeds, not flowers, and I stopped picking them. Weeds didn't deserve to be picked. Instead, I destroyed them so that they wouldn't infest the yard. It was better that way, they were just weeds, after all.
When I was an adult, I ignored dandelions. As long as they were out of my yard, I didn't care about them one bit. Dandelions are for little kids to enjoy and hopefuls to make wishes, not for busy adults with busy lives. They were just a part of this world, after all.
Now that I'm old, I love when my grandchildren bring me dandelions, their hands stained yellow and their smiles big and bright. It reminds me of when I was a child, picking dandelions with my mother. Even though I can't pick them anymore, other people do it for me, and I guess that's okay. They're dandelions, after all.