The Redbud Tree

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.
 

   
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