The Fruit Tree
By J. Cross
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Jeff Cross
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The Fruit Tree
William was tall for his age, but not as tall as the bully in front of him.
“I said pick it up, that means now, punk!” said the bully.
William stared down at the note book lying on the floor before them. If he picked it up, the bully would always be his superior. If he fought him and lost, the bully would own him. He made his decision.
“Up yours!” said William as he turned to walk away.
Suddenly William was flying forward. The bully had shoved him hard in the middle of his back. He was able to catch himself before going down. William spun around with both of his fists balled tightly. The bully was laughing at him and dared him to make a move. As William stepped forward with his fist raised the bully was stepping forward with both fists up.
Just before either boy could swing, huge hands snatched them up by their shirt collars. The deep voice of one of the coaches boomed out over the now crowded hall.
“You boys come with me, the rest of you get to class or you’ll be joining them.”
“I wish you boys would grow up a little,” mumbled the coach.
William’s father guided his son to the passenger side of the truck with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His father was a big man. He stood tall and strong, his hands were callused from handling hot steel all day. His father was a welder and worked very hard at his job. Nothing was said during the trip home. The only incident was when a car ran a stop light and his father had to slam the brakes on hard to prevent hitting the car. William’s father just shook his head as if to say no and continued on his way.
The next day William went with his father to the job where he was working that day. On the way to the job a boy in a convertible Mustang whipped around from behind his father and yelled.
“If you can’t drive it, park it!”
He roared away with his finger high over his head. William’s father just shook his head as if to say no and continued on his way.
During the lunch break, they sat on plastic buckets and ate in silence. About half way through lunch a young welder from another part of the job came up and spoke to his father.
“Hey, man. I need some three sixteenth seventy eighteen’s. Do you have any?”
“Yes I have some,” said his father. “I only have enough to make the day, though. I can’t help you out this time.”
“Man, you can share.” said the young welder as he reached over and snatched up a bundle of welding rods and walked away.
William’s father just shook his head as if to say no and continued eating his lunch. William stopped eating and stared at his father.
“Why do you take that?” he asked.
“Take what?” said his father.
“That,” pointing the direction the young welder walked, “and in the Mustang this morning.”
His father sighed deeply. Picking up his napkin, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and brushed the crumbs from his shirt.
“Are you a coward?” asked William. “Is that what you want me to be?”
“Coward?” asked his father in a deep calm voice. “No son, responsible, yes.”
“An old man told me a story one day, son. It goes kind of like this. There was a fruit tree. It was young and stood tall and straight. Since it was young, it only had ten or twelve fruits on it. The fruits were held high off the ground and no one could pick them. Now each year the fruit tree produced more and more fruit. The more fruit it produced, the more weight was pulling down on the branches. The branches began to hang close to the ground. Even the youngest child could eat of the fruit.”
William’s father reached into his lunch bag and brought out an orange and began slowly peeling it. He then continued.
“Now look at the fruit as responsibilities. The older you get, the more responsibilities you get. The more you have, the more you bow down low and are humbled.”
“In each case you mentioned, the boy who came for more welding rods, the boy in the Mustang, they were all young and have little to worry about. I have you, your mother and a place to live, a job. Do you understand, William?”
“Do you mean that because you worry about me and Mom, you don’t stand up for yourself?” asked William.
“No son, what I mean is that as one bows down with the loaded branch of fruit, he becomes more in tune to the needs of others, humble or less arrogant. He allows the children to eat of his fruit. There is no need to stand up in these cases, because you do not need to.”
“If I would have picked up the note book yesterday, everyone would have thought I was a coward,” said William.
“I understand that,” said his father. “Your young and have few fruit. As you grow up you’ll begin to understand the story. Just remember it and think about it once in awhile.”
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