A small story
It’s morning, an early South Carolina Low Country morning.
A cool breeze is blowing off of the ocean.
Sparkling dew drops are in the grass at my bare feet.
It’s the dawn of a new day.
And it’s a new year in my life.
Today is my birthday.
I was born ten years ago on a Friday the 13th day of May.
“You were born on Friday the 13th,” says my mamí every year, “So you changed it from an unlucky day to the luckiest day ever.”
“You’re a lucky rabbit’s foot for the world,” says my abuelo.
This makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world.
There are two maple trees in front of me, one on my right and one on my left at the end of the path that leads to the hollowed out school bus where we live.
“Little Salt,” my abuelo whispered to me early this morning before dawn, “I planted two trees for you.
I planted two so they will never be alone.
Every year, they’ll take in sunshine and rain.
They’ll grow tall and broad and strong.
Every year they’ll face hurricane winds that might break them apart right there in the ground.
I planted them 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 perch and sing.
I planted them for you.
Mi nieto, look at me.
When you look at them, remember.
You are loved.
Love in return.
That’s the best advice I can give you.
That’s the best thing you can give to the world.
- trevor scott barton, stories for brown-eyed girls, 2022
No comments:
Post a Comment