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When my first boy was an infant,
I had a friend with a son about four. We lived in
the same apartment complex which backed up to a
golf course. Late one summer afternoon as I drove
in from work, I happened to see my friend and his
son walking across the open green expanse toward a
huge old oak tree. I parked and watched them,
thinking about the day when I could walk with my
own son, and teach him of the world. When they
reached the tree, each unzipped his pants and
proceeded to urinate on the great old tree. When
they finished they zipped up, chatted for a minute,
then turned around and headed back across the
fairway to their apartment. A day or two later when
I happened to see my friend, I asked him about that
incident. It was a beautiful story which I will
share with you. As a boy, my friend Bill did not
have much physical or emotional contact with his
father. The man worked a great deal and it was not
the kind of job to which he could take Bill. So
Bill watched his Dad disappear six mornings a week
to some secret place, with great curiosity and not
a little jealousy. His Dad worked very hard and
when he got home it was his habit to have a quiet
dinner and listen to the news on the radio,
occasionally tuck Bill into bed and disappear
again, to where Bill had no idea. On Sundays dad would spend most
of the day wrapped around the newspaper or sleeping
or doing a little work around the house. The father
didn't talk much to Bill, or anyone else for that
matter, and by the time Bill was four or five, he
had learned that dads were not very available for
conversation. There was never much doubt in Bill's
mind that his father loved him very much, but he
could never seem to get the same kind of attention
that mom gave him, and it bothered him. Wasn't he,
after all, a man, just like his dad? So, at around the age of seven,
Bill decided that he needed to talk to his Dad. One
bright summer Sunday, he approached the older man
and asked why he never talked to anyone but mom.
Bill asked if that meant his father was not happy,
and if his unhappiness was Bill's fault. At this,
his father stared at Bill for a few long moments
and asked why Bill thought he might be unhappy.
"Well," he remembered saying, "how can you be happy
if you don't talk?" Slowly, the father took Bill's
hand and walked with him in silence to a far corner
of their yard. Here they stopped beneath a great
old oak tree. "Son," the big man said, "there
is no greater happiness in the world than in this
old tree. It does not have to talk to be happy.
It's happy just being a tree." "But you are not a
tree, you're my dad," said the boy." "Yes, but
knowing that you are my son makes me just as happy
as this tree." The boy thought about this for a
moment, looking up into the full and inviting arms
of the tree. "But Dad," he said eventually, "how do
you know the tree is happy?" "Well", he said gently
and with a rarely seen smile, "it just looks happy.
We can tell by the great size and fullness and
richness of its branches and by its strength." "Can
I help the tree be happy?" asked the young
one. With this, the father thought
for a moment. "I'll tell you what, Bill. I'll bet
that if you give the tree a gift, it would be even
happier than it is now." "What kind of a gift could
we give a tree, dad?" "Well, the most important
thing for a tree is water. Without water the tree
would quickly die. Suppose you and I pee on this
tree and give it the gift of water." "Oh yes,"
cried Bill, "let's do that. Let's do
that." After that day it was never very
hard for Bill to find a way to talk to his father
when something important was on his mind. He would
just ask him to come pee on the tree with him. Bill
does not recall his father ever
refusing. With the passing years and the
life of his father, Bill forgot about the ritual.
Life got complicated, he fell in love and was
married and eventually had a son of his own. That
afternoon, when I had seen the two of them at the
old oak, the boy had asked his father a very
serious question. He wanted to know the difference
between boys and girls. Bill felt uncomfortable but
hesitated to brush the query aside. Suddenly, the memory of his
father came to him and he took the boy into his
first initiation. As they stood before the great
oak, Bill told his son, "Well, son, I guess that
we're all pretty much the same in most ways but the
main difference between boys and girls is that
girls can have babies, which is very nice..but boys
can pee on trees." Sometimes the greatest wisdom is
in the simplest answers. |