It is Thanksgiving weekend here in Michigan. The weather is cool. The sky is blue.
I am standing at the picture window, looking out at our front yard. And there it is-the small tree Penni and I planted three years ago. A few wilted-up leaves hang on, but soon they will be blown off. It’s just a matter of time.
I remember the day Penni brought the tree home. As she pulled up in the driveway, I saw a big grin on her face. She got out of the car, producing the scraggly runt of a tree. She’d found it in a dumpster behind our local garden center. The tree’s leaves were wilted, its roots were crowded, and the pot it was in was so very dry.
Being an optimist, I also began to smile. “We will bury it in good soil, fertilize it, and water it every day,” I said. “We can save this tree.” And Penni agreed. We decided to plant our little tree right in the center of our front yard for everyone to see.
Penni and I prepared the soil, lowered the tree into the ground, covered its roots with dirt, and watered it.. As we worked, we talked about how beautiful our tree would be someday. We dreamed about the shade it would provide for our house once it was big and tall. We imagined hanging a rope swing from its limbs. Lofting a tree house in its branches. We had big dreams for this little tree.
In the fall of that year, I decided to prune some of the branches to give it a great start for next spring. To be honest, our tree looked pretty sorry. As neighbors walked by, they’d see our tree and chuckle. “Why bother with that poor tree?” they’d whisper.
And I’d ask myself, “Why am I such an optimist? Why am I trying to save this tree?”
Thinking back to my early years, I remember playing basketball. I went to a small school and we had a terrible athletic program. In the years I went to school there, we never-not once-won a game. Not basketball. Not football. Not baseball. Nothing.
But I remember playing each and every game until the end as though we were going to win. Some of the guys would give up as they realized we we’d lose, but I never did. As we’d walk off the court and I’d look up at the scoreboard, I was always surprised to learn that it wasn’t even a close game.
I still don’t know why I’m like this but I think it’s a good characteristic.
Getting back to the tree, in the years since we planted our tree, it still does not look great. But I like that tree. I mean, it could have given up. Or I could have given up. But we didn’t. Maybe someday that tree will be big and beautiful and the people passing by will admire it. But even if that doesn’t happen, it’s okay because there is much more to life than meets the eye. It’s called hope. I like to hope. It’s kinda what keeps me going and I think that’s a good thing also. My son Evan is 22 months old. When he was born, the doctors told us that he might not make it. The said, “He’s not perfect. He has a lot of medical problems.” After 252 days in the hospital, Penni and I brought him home. We look at Evan and we see potential. We take him and love him and care for him-just like our little tree.
People look at Evan and you can see the look in their eyes-it’s the same look they give the tree. But we put Evan right out there in front and show him off. We have hope that someday he will be big and strong just like the tree. But even if that doesn’t happen, it’s okay because life is full of
imperfect things. If we give up, we lose. But if we hope, if we try to overcome, if we say, “We can do it,” that’s when we win.
About the Author
Scott Newport is the father of Evan, who was diagnosed with Noonan’s syndrome and hypertrophic cardiomyopathy as an infant. Evan spent the first 252 days of his life in the hospital only to leave with a death notice. Now four years old, Evan uses a ventilator to breathe and has various developmental delays. The Newport family endures happily in Royal Oak, Michigan.
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