It is morning, an early South Carolina low country morning, with a cool breeze blowing off of the ocean and sparking dew drops in the grass at my bare feet, the dawn of a new day and a new year in my life.
Today is my birthday. I was born ten years ago on a Friday, the 13th of May.
My abuelo tells me that my birth changed Friday the 13th from an unlucky day to the luckiest day ever.
This makes me feel like I have something important to do for the world, like I am some kind of lucky charm in it.
Two maple trees are in front of me, one to my right and one to my left at the end of the path that leads to the hollowed out school bus where I live with my abuelo and mamí.
My abuelo planted them for me for my birthday.
“Mi nieto,” he whispered early this morning before dawn, “I planted these two trees for a reason.
I planted two of them so they will never be alone.
Every year, they will take in sunshine and rain.
They will grow tall and broad and strong.
Every year they will face hurricane strength winds that might cause them to break apart right there in the ground.
The reason I planted them is so they can give tired campesinos a place to sit down and rest when they’re hot and tired from a long day in the peach orchards and the tomato fields.
I planted them so they can give children a place to climb and laugh and swing.
I planted them so they can give birds a place to sit and sing for the people.
I planted them for you.
Mi nieto, look at me.
When you look at them, remember.
You are loved.
Live in return.
That’s the best thing you can do for the world.
- trevor scott barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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