In order to illustrate the gift you are to this earth, I’m going to take a crack at writing a children’s story. Sorry there’s no artwork. My drawing is more horrific than my poetry.
***
On a hill in a flowered field I found a wishing tree.
Like a firework in the sky, its branches exploded
in leaves of velvet green. Under its swimming pool cool
shade I lay and listened to it softly whisper the word
Dream.
Dream.
Dream a wish? Wish a dream? Anything for me?
I stared into its great big canopy and thought of all the possibilities.
I always wanted room in the clouds, a spaceship to take me there.
I wanted a phone, the newest gaming console, and a fancy watch to wear.
With eyes closed tight, fingers tracing withered, ancient bark,
My first very wish I spoke aloud.
The wind stopped, the whispering ceased.
I waited. And watched. Sighed.
It did not work.
Nothing.
What a stupid tree.
I kicked a stone at the trunk. Hung my head, and turned away to leave.
But suddenly, a rustle gathered from the very top leaf
of the very top of the very tall tree,
then shivered, shimmied, and shook all the way down.
The branches began rattling with sound and fury never before found.
From the ground, from the deep, damp earth,
the roots began to groan. A rattling tremor under my feet.
And just as quickly as it all began,
the tree fell silent once again. Then
From the midst of the great green canopy, came
a silent
single
solitary leaf
streaming
to the ground.
To my amazed eyes, bounding through wildflowers and weeds–
my wish actually became a truth!
With a curly red mane, and paws too big, it wagged and barked hello.
I kissed its nose. Patted its head, and named my new puppy Joe.
Joe was the first, but definitely not the last, of my wishes to come true.
For every day, under the canopy, I asked for something brand new.
And every day my tree would sigh, then tremble and wiggle around.
And every single wish it would grant with a whimper and a moan.
And every thing I ever wanted dropped right out of the sky
like every miniature solitary leaf that came streaming to the ground.
I had a dog, a massive car, a fur coat to wear.
I spent days swimming in pools, and nights flying through the air.
I had friends who fawned, parties to throw,
and a list–quite long–of more wishes for my tree to bestow.
But my friend became sick, sicker than the flu.
He had no help or resources. He was dying.
I ran with urgency, past oaks and flowered fields
to kneel beneath that great big canopy and beg for his well-being.
What I saw when I looked up shocked me.
Only one left. Clinging to a limb,
one lonely
shriveled dry leaf
meaning there was
only one wish
left
for me.
(I always did want a kitty)
So I knelt beneath the withered tree, pressed my head against the bark.
I wished and wished and wished and wished until it hurt my heart.
But the tree wouldn’t shake, the leaf wouldn’t drop.
Not a sound the roots did make.
It was sick. That was it.
There were no more wishes for my tree to give.
I returned home.
Donations were made; rallies were held; my friend got the help needed.
I worked so hard to help him get better, the wishing tree…
well, I forgot to visit.
It wasn’t until my friend came home, glowing with health and youth,
that I realized–with sudden amazement–my wish had become a truth!
So I ran, once again, through dandelion fields, I ran with urgency.
I knew the tree was bare. I used it all up. But no request did I seek.
I only wanted to say–with all my heart–
thank you for granting that one last wish for me.
But when I looked up, I discovered, next to the brown, withered leaf
a few more clinging on, huddling together, fragile and green.
The tree seemed to stand a bit taller.
The roots gave a little more sound.
Since my tree was looking better, I scribbled down a list.
It had been a while. I had a all new things to wish.
For instance, a mom was crying for her baby who couldn’t be found.
I wished for the mom to find peace, and for the child to find home.
And then I wished for the most vulnerable, for those in need.
I wished for them to be–and to truly feel–seen.
I wished and wished and wished and wished
until I heard the faint whispering of the word
Dream.
I looked up to see my tree transformed into a dazzling sparkling display.
With branches sparking together and linking hands with the wind;
leaves tickled the clouds and the sun watched, giggling.
The ancient bark deepened in shade as the roots cuddled into the ground.
And from the velvety green canopy, not one single leaf
streamed down to the ground.
My wishes could be dreams! My dreams could turn into truths!
But they should not be all for me.
For when we wish to dream, and dream for others,
what a beautiful world we can create.
***
Teaching high school seniors provides easy access to quality child care. My husband calls it the “farm league”. I guess that’s some sport’s term for a talent-development machine (I don’t understand it. It’s not like they’re growing cows and pigs). But every year, in the classroom, I would scout future talent for babysitting. I would watch and listen all year long. I paid close attention. It wasn’t about who got the best grades. It was about who took on a challenge. Who’s kind and patient. Because, well, what can I say? We’re talking about my kids. I would wait until the student crosses the graduation stage. Then saunter through the pomp and circumstance, the identical robes, the cardboard squared assailants and plastic flower cones. I’d sidle up and whisper in the prospective student’s ear, “You, uh, happen to be in the business of babysitting?” and if the student nodded, “Want a job? We’ll keep you busy.”
But I never accosted you on graduation day. You were never actually a student in one of my classes. You came recommended when one had to cancel on us last minute. I agreed to the switch in a pinch. But I told my husband in the car, “I don’t like her one bit.”
“How can you know? We only pulled out of the driveway.” Drew eyed the rearview mirror and flipped the turn signal.
“Well I know,” I shoved my tongue into my lower lip, “Besides, she’s too pretty.”
But my pout rounded when I returned home that evening to find you made a fort out of our old, forgotten holiday sheets. Underneath, you hung paper star-like amoebas cut out by my children, and with a flashlight, read them Where the Sidewalk Ends. Their faces glowed with such delight and wonder, I slapped you on the back (a little too hard; still sorry about that one) and hollered.
“You’re hired. Forever!”
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about moving. You had to see it in the boxes and chaos when I called for help. You arrived; I started weeping. I blew a snot-bubble. Got some of it on your shoulder. You hugged me, smoothed my hair, repeated, “It’s not your fault.” At least I wasn’t as sloppy as the time I came home after drinking a little too much. I tried to sneak past you on my hands and knees. It didn’t work. I knocked over a lamp. What can I say? It was my 40th birthday. Thanks for never bringing that one up, by the way.
You’ve grown up a lot since the day you first stood at my door. Let’s be honest. You didn’t really get a choice. You told me about it, once, when I drove you home. No person should ever have to endure what happened to you, especially at that age. It took courage to share your story. But despite what happened, you never dialed it in. You never forfeited. If that was me, I don’t think I could have done the same. And if I did manage to sludge one foot in front of the other, I certainly never would have loved again.
But every day, you do the reverse. You pour so much love into the world, and gladly. Yet you ask for nothing in return.
You taught me to be a better person, and you loved my children as your own. They really miss you. You should see how they’ve grown.
I really miss you, too.
love
your friend and ‘teacher’
PS. Please share my letter. This could be for a care taker you know.
No Real Balance 