Did you know that they planted two trees in the field
behind Lincoln Elementary School’s playground? I bet you didn’t know that those trees
were planted in memorial to two different people. I didn’t
know, until one sunny, spring day in third grade.
There was no other class out on the empty playground that day, except
for Ms. Conmy’s third grade class. Monica and I were sitting on the swings, talking, but not paying much attention to anything. Then all of a sudden, Monica turned around and said, “You
know, I just noticed. There are two new trees back there. A pine, and
a something else.”
“I never noticed them much either,” I replied. So we went over to study the trees. They were both young. The pine had lots of needles on it already, but the other tree had just a few leaves. It almost looked sad. “I feel bad for the little tree,” I said. “Why would you feel bad for it?” Monica asked. “Well, because, nobody’s going to pay much attention to it. I mean, it will probably die within the first few months, seeing how fragile it looks,” I
explained.
Well, Monica left the trees alone after that, but I didn’t. I didn’t look at the pine tree a lot. I paid more attention to the little one. It was almost as if I was drawn to it. Drawn to it like a curious cat is drawn to an empty paper bag. This was around the time when I was having problems with my friends. I was often getting in arguments that ended with me wanting to go off by myself. I went to the tree, the little, tiny tree that most people didn’t
think meant anything in the world. Like a boy who steps on an ant, not
thinking it will make a difference. In fact, I was always talking to the
tree, and
found comfort by it, as if it was talking back, and giving me answers to
my problems.
After about two months of sitting with the little tree, I discovered something.
There was a plaque by each of the trees. The one by the pine tree said, “Celebrate everything living. Remembering Henry Birko”. But the one by the little tree said this: “1924 Francis Bud Corry 2002 This tree planted to honor “Bud” for his service and dedication to improving the lives of all residents of Oak Park”.
The previous summer, an elderly man, who I was very close to, died of a
heart problem. His name was Bud Corry. I had known him since I could remember.
He lived on the block behind mine, and I talked to him all the time when
I rode my bike or my scooter by his house. We talked about lot of things,
from “Hello, how are you doing?” to “So Alex, how’s rehearsal going for your latest play?” He
was always on his porch, and often invited me on the porch to sit with
him. He was one of my favorite people. Once he died, I thought that it would be impossible to talk to him anymore.
I was shocked. When I was talking to the tree, could I have really been talking to a man that I had talked to up until the previous summer?
Francis Bud Corry was a part of my life until the summer of 2002. Now,
he is still part of my life, because of a little tree that I thought nobody
cared about. I still talk to that little tree, and when I talk to it, I’m
talking to Bud, too.