Acorn

There was once a little boy who wasn’t unlike any other little boy. He was average in height and had glistening auburn hair that constantly covered his eyes. He loved jumping in puddles on rainy days and giggled when his mother would try to count his freckles. He relished in scaring his older sister with a tree branch claiming it was a summertime June bug crawling into her brain. He was constantly dirty despite his mother’s best efforts and was always stealing more cookies after dinner. His father never objected as they had a mutual agreement in sharing the spoils. The boy, all in all, was normal. Aside from the fact that day in and day out all he would do was climb trees.

Small trees, big trees, weeping willows and prickly pines there was not one he hadn’t conquered before. His favorite, however, was a particularly tall oak tree on the very outskirts of town.

He would climb this tall oak day after day in hopes of reaching the very top. Each day he would pull his little body up with all his might. Branch after branch, one pull at a time he would draw closer and closer to the fluttering roof above. The oak tree would silently sway against him as if encouraging him to go further. To reach for the next branch. Beckoning him to push higher and higher leaving the ground further and further behind.

Finally, he would pull himself up to very nearly the top. So close in fact, he could see the blue-sky peaking through the leaves and the white fluffy clouds winking at him as they slowly drifted by. It was here he would usually stop. So close to his destination but completely exhausted. His little body heaving, struggling to get air into his lungs. His limbs shaking from the exertion, he would pause on a thick branch and stare longingly above. If he looked down he could just barely see the ground below but he was always more fixated by looking up.

He never went past this point. A dirty, tired little boy in a white t-shirt and blue jeans. No matter how many times he pushed his sweat soaked hair from his eyes or rubbed his tired muscles, he never found it within himself to reach for the last few branches. He would look above him at the distance between him and the sky but only for a moment longer because he knew tomorrow, he would try again.

One day the little boy, free from his chores and all responsibilities, ran off to climb the tree only to find a stump where his majestic tree once stood. At the sight the little boy sank to his knees, much like the tree did as it toppled from its heights, and sat in silence for a long, long time.

He cried a few tears as he looked at the pocket of sky where his tree had once covered. It looked like a gaping wound without the leaves dancing in the wind.

Eventually, he picked himself up, his head hanging low, and walked back home. His mind filled with thoughts of what he should have done to reach the top and scolding himself over and over for never trying harder. He wipes the tears from his eyes and dries his hands on his dirty blue jeans but he drowns in disappointment regardless.

If only he had tried harder.

As he arrives home, he walks past the bustling of the household. His parents are speaking loudly to one another in the kitchen and barely notice his somber presence. His sister lounges on the couch popping her bubblegum while reading a magazine. Her music blares so loudly from her headphones it can be heard over their parent's heated discussion. She doesn't see his slouched figure walking by as he makes his way to his bedroom.

Not a soul notices the tears falling from his eyes.

He climbs the steps to his room where he throws himself on his bed. His head full of the way the wind sounds whooshing through the branches of the oak tree and the creaking sound of the wood as it settles after a cool evening. He can nearly feel the rough bark under his hands. The way it would pinch his tender palms and give way under his sneakers as he reached for the next branch.

As he turns onto his belly to bury his face in his pillow, he feels a sharp pressure on his thigh. The pain breaks his sulking thoughts. He winces and flops back over on his back. He doesn’t remember falling when he was playing? Maybe he just hadn’t noticed? He touches his thigh and feels a lump under his palm.

How odd, he thinks.

He proceeds to investigate his pocket and what his little hand closes around makes him bolt upright in bed. He slowly pulls his discovery out of his pocket, wishing beyond wishes that it is what he thinks it is. He brings his little fist to his tear-stained face and opens it.

Lying in the center of his grubby hand is a small acorn. Small enough to accidentally fall into an ambitious little boy’s pocket as he scales the branches of a tall oak tree. Small enough to fit in his tiny, dirty, hopeful hands.

Small enough to someday be majestic and big enough to make him want to climb again.