He sat under the old oak tree his great grand dad planted as a sapling almost one hundred years ago. It was a tree kids would climb as they grew, along with it with sturdy branches and challenging limbs to navigate the highest of climbs. Each generation of kids dared their friends to go higher and higher until one such brave kid reached the top, sticking his head out of the tippy-top branches, where he yelled loudly. He could see the whole town from up there. To his reckoning, nobody else ever climbed that high again.
As the years passed, tree houses were built in the old oak shelters to camp out in or pretend to be lookouts for the enemy. They were constructed with materials found around the farm and, on more than one occasion, fell apart, sending wood and boys falling to the ground below, causing one broken arm and bouts of poison ivy. Dad, who was a carpenter by trade, built a tree house unlike any other, with a floor, sturdy walls, a roof with shingles, and a trap door. A rope was lowered to the ground to let someone climb up if invited, and an emergency ladder kept inside just in case a wise guy took the rope off.
That old oak tree had a rope swing hanging from a sturdy branch that could hold the weight of the fattest kids, who, in most cases, chose it instead of trying to climb the rope up to the tree house. That tree was a part of kids' lives, including his, who could close his eyes and see the joy and laughter it brought on any given day. As he stood next to the oak, he saw the carvings of hearts and initials, dates and notches, showing the growth of kids as they grew up. A tear rolled down his face as he saw his kid's name on the mighty oak, a babysitter he thought of as a never-ending source of happy times.
Lightning struck that old oak, scorching some of its bark and catching fire, which was quickly put out, but not before leaving a scar that never healed. It wasn't strong enough to climb anymore, but it still stood as a reminder of its once mighty self, ready to take on the best tree houses and lookouts from low-hanging branches. Much like himself, it refused to acknowledge old age and would probably outlive generations to come who would hear the stories and look up to the heavens, where the shadow of a boy could be heard yelling that he could see the whole town from up there. And he smiled, remembering he could.
That old oak tree had a rope swing hanging from a sturdy branch that could hold the weight of the fattest kids, who, in most cases, chose it instead of trying to climb the rope up to the tree house. That tree was a part of kids' lives, including his, who could close his eyes and see the joy and laughter it brought on any given day. As he stood next to the oak, he saw the carvings of hearts and initials, dates and notches, showing the growth of kids as they grew up. A tear rolled down his face as he saw his kid's name on the mighty oak, a babysitter he thought of as a never-ending source of happy times.
Lightning struck that old oak, scorching some of its bark and catching fire, which was quickly put out, but not before leaving a scar that never healed. It wasn't strong enough to climb anymore, but it still stood as a reminder of its once mighty self, ready to take on the best tree houses and lookouts from low-hanging branches. Much like himself, it refused to acknowledge old age and would probably outlive generations to come who would hear the stories and look up to the heavens, where the shadow of a boy could be heard yelling that he could see the whole town from up there. And he smiled, remembering he could.
Mike 2026 
Mike 2026
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