The Tree

As the tree fell, Troy couldn't help thinking how much he would miss it. Planted at the turn of the century by his great-grandfather it stood when biplanes ruled the skies. His grandfather climbed its young branches to watch as the model T's rumbled over the new road on the hill. His father kissed his mother under this tree when he returned from World War II.

It had to go. Powerful winds from a recent storm brought a branch down on the old homestead, too close for comfort for his aging parents. But what a friend it had been. The moment Troy could leave the house he claimed the tree as his own. His older brother and sister never fought for the right. It was his hiding place from an angry father, a medicine-giving mother, and over affectionate aunts. From his secure perch Troy fought off pirates, criminals and all sorts of evildoers. High off the ground the world laid before him.

From there he pondered the great mysteries of life like were there really flying saucers, and why were the Baltimore Colts in the western division of the NFL.

On a chilly night in October 1963 Troy sat in the tree waiting. Just a few hours before he had been cursing the tree for dropping its leaves all over the backyard; now he sat quietly breathing in the smell of the autumn leaves and staring off at the horizon. The night was still save the rare passing of a car. Troy waited for the flash and wondered if he would see the mushroom cloud before he died.

A moment later the screen door creaked open and Troy could hear the sound of the evening news on the TV. His father came out and sat on the old chair on the back porch.

"Troy. Troy, come down here son, I want to talk to you."

Troy jumped out of the tree and was on the porch in a minute. He sat on the banister in front of his father.

"Troy, do you think there are seven year old boys in Russia?"

"I guess so."

"Do you think that those seven year old boys have dads that love them?"

"I never thought about it."

"None of us do son, but they are there; seven-year-old boys and mothers and fathers who love them. There are houses and dogs and cats and even teachers that give too much homework.

What I'm trying to say son is Russia is full of people, and they don't want to end this world anymore than we do. I'm sure President Kennedy will work this out."

"Dad?"

"Yeah son?"

"Why didn't you ever build that fallout shelter in the backyard?"

"Well, son, I thought about it. You see fallout shelters are no guarantee of protection. We're really dealing with forces that we barely understand. I'd rather put my faith in man's basic common sense, but I'll make you a deal. If one week after this mess is over, you come to me and ask me to build a fallout shelter, I'll build a fallout shelter. Is that a deal?"

"Its a deal Dad."

"OK then I think your mom has some strawberry ice cream in the frig. Let's take a look."

It was almost a year after the Cuban Missile Crisis that Troy remembered the deal that his dad made. As usual, his dad was right.

From his perch in the old tree Troy witnessed the beginning of the darkest day of his life. It was a warm summer day in 1968. Troy was at his vantage point ready to watch Shelly Petroski make her usual journey home from the city swimming pool. As he waited, a car pulled up in front of the house. His curiosity about the car ended with the appearance of the beautiful Miss Petroski. He gazed longingly as the blond haired teenager glided passed his view.

His heart was still fluttering when he heard his mother cry out from inside his house. Frozen in fear, Troy held onto the tree. As he built up the courage to move his father came out of the back door and flopped into the old chair. He just sat there with his head in his hands. Between his fingers was a folded sheet of paper.

Troy climbed down from the tree and slowly approached his father.

"Dad what's wrong? What's happened?"

His father reached out and hugged him so tight that Troy could barely breath. Then he spoke in a voice barely under control. "Troy, Jack won't be coming home from Vietnam. You're my only son now."

On that summer afternoon, in the shade of the old tree, Troy watched his father cry.

Sitting on the fallen trunk Troy lowered his head. Pushing a tear back into his eye he tried to think of happier times. He remembered the first time he shared his perch with Karen. It seemed silly for a twenty-two year old man to be climbing a tree, but Karen insisted on sitting on the sacred branch.

"So this is it. This is Troy's window on the world. I like it."

"I'm glad you approve, because I'm hoping you'll accept it as part of our community property."

"Community property? Troy, are you saying . . ."

"I'm not saying Karen, I'm asking. Karen, would you be my wife? I'll love you forever, and I'll do whatever it takes . . ."

"Troy, Troy" Karen interrupted with a tear in her eye, "you've made your point. If you didn't ask me, I was going to ask you."

As they kissed, Troy's mother came out of the back door.

"Troy . . . Good gracious son, have you lost your mind? Get that girl out of that tree before she breaks a leg."

When they climbed down Karen confessed. "It was my idea Mrs. Roberts."

"Well don't get him started again. He spent so much time in that tree that I was beginning to think he was part squirrel."

"Mrs. Roberts, he gave it to me."

"What, the tree?"

"No, the ring."

As Karen held out her hand Troy's mother hugged her. "Welcome to the family dear."

"Hey Troy!"

Troy looked up to see his father and his son coming toward him. "Come on," his father called, "visiting hours are going to start. Aren't you anxious to see your new grandson?"

There in that moment Troy could see the entire century. Through his fathers eyes he could see back to his grandfather watching the model T's going by, and through his son's eyes he could see his grandson cutting a path into the new millennium. There was still a strong tree in place here. There was no doubt about that.