Moms and their love for their little boys. That unexplained
bond that transcends all sensible reasoning.
A bond that requires few if any words to communicate to each other their
own wants or needs.
But sometimes, words
are needed for direction, for reassurance, for not only explaining how to get the job done, but getting it done
right. But little boys sometimes only
hear what they want to hear, a trait that often stays with them even into
adulthood.
My Mom planted a redbud tree in our backyard soon after I
was born to, I guess, remind her of my birth. She should have known better
after already raising two other boys, that I would be reminding her daily that
I was there
As the redbud tree grew, so did I. It’s branches
starting to spread and grow tall, much like my gangly arms and legs. Mom
would tend to the tree as needed pruning here, nipping there as if she were shaping
the tree much like she was helping shape the future for her little boy.
Mom asked if I would go outside and cut
up the branches she had painstakingly removed and laid aside for disposal. Eager
to please I jumped at the occasion and hurried outside to complete the task and
bask in her radiant smile. But little
boys vocabularies are underdeveloped much like their little brains. And words
they hear aren’t the words spoken.
Such was the case.
I hurried outside grabbing a saw and axe from the garage
along the way and headed for the prized redbud. I kicked some discarded dead
branches laying near the base of the tree as I busily started to
hack and cut the flowering branches before me.
I guess Mom must have sensed the force in the universe that
occurs when the mom/child relationship
starts to wobble on its axis.
She came outside to check on her young saplings, me and the
tree, and suddenly that sound of despair that I had heard once before after she saw my
friend and I digging up the remains of our dog that was buried in the backyard
just so we could see what he looked like.
One trunk, no branches, just one trunk stood by itself,
naked for all the world to see.
Mom cried. I cried. We cleaned up the messes together and she said “things will be okay”.
And they were.
Sixty years later when I drove by my childhood home, I saw
the wonderful, beautiful, colorful redbud tree. It’s trunk a foot in diameter,
its branches reaching 20 feet into the sky.
Moms always know when
things will be okay.
”
