Please post the link to your weekly Slice of Life in the comments to this post.
Remember, you may also complete the weekly Slice of Life in your Writer's Notebook.
On Monday night, when I came across the 1973 movie (below) of author Shel Silverstein reading The Giving Tree while playing a weary, reflective harmonica, I ached again, remembering the obvious, endless love and willing sacrifice at the core of this unforgettable book. Melting in sobs, I watched the black-line drawings from my childhood memories move together and apart. My thoughts ebbed and flowed through the keystone story of the boy's endless wanting and the tree's endless giving: the reciprocal joy the tree created with the innocent, playful boy; the scaring, self-mutilating sacrifice of the tree to help the impulsive, distracted, young man; the unconditional comfort the tree willingly gave to the haggard being who still needed her.
I now can see this book has always been an unspoken promise Mom made me, a code embodied by her love throughout my life. Before I'd given her much more than dirty diapers, sleepless nights, and a "naked baby on the loose" who would sprint down the hallway to avoid the bathtub, she told me all she would do. Dually, when I didn't know I needed anything, and when I knew she was the only one who'd understand, Mom has been the Tree, the tireless, resourceful, constant presence who supports me: throughout childhood's need for food, safety, and an advocating adult, and the less-frequent, but often more urgent teenage need for someone to care as I began to stretch my wings, and adulthood's occasional remaining need for reassurance - the knowing voice on the other end of the telephone late at night. And, now, she is a friend I am beginning to provide for and uplift as well as she has provided for my twenty-seven years of growing into my own Tree.