Once Upon a Time...

"Tell me a story, father."

"Alright, but you must promise to go to sleep afterwards. It's very late."

He nodded, eagerly awaiting whatever story his father had to tell him. He had always enjoyed the sound of his father's voice. It was a voice like no other, one he could recognize from a thousand other voices; deep and soothing. He enjoyed the way his father could paint the most magnificent picture using only the words of his stories. He settled in beneath the warm blankets as his father pulled the chair from the corner of the room and placed it beside the bed. "What will it be? Faeries? Dragons? Or perhaps you'd like to hear the one about the dashing young prince who comes to save the fair maiden, aye?"

He thought of this, each character appearing before him as his father introduced them. But none of them seemed to fit. He didn't want a story for its adventure, nor its intrigue or terror. He simply wanted his father's voice to be the last thing he heard before he shut his eyes as he had so many nights before. "What about the one about the boy and his father?"

The old man paused, leaned back in the chair, and stared at his son. How his eyes glowed with anticipation before he had uttered a single word. It was as if he were going to give the boy the recipe for life's elixir. He was hungry for them, these nightly stories. Some times, it seemed as though these fables and tales were the reason the boy ever went to bed on time. He smiled, "Ah, I think I remember that one. There was once a young boy..."

"Who loved his father very much, right? Don't forget that. That's very important. You can't forget that. There was once a young boy who loved his father very much."

He chuckled. "Yes. He loved his father very much. And he didn't interrupt his father, either." The boy's cheeks reddened and he bit down on his lower lip. "Thank you. Now, this boy and his father lived alone--that is to say his mother died in child birth. Truly tragic. The woman was beautiful... Kind and loving, she was, too. And so beautiful. So very, very beautiful..."

"But it was alright, wasn't it, Father? The boy and his father grew very close. And loved each other. And one day they were out in the yard..."

His father blinked a few times as if waking from a distant dream. "Uh, ah, yes. Right you are. So, the boy and his father were out in the yard one morning when the boy noticed an old tree stump remaining after someone had cut down the tree down. He asked his father why the person had left the roots to remain. He sat down on the stump and took the young boy on his knee. 'Well, you see my son,' he said, 'whomever planted this tree had a home here. They obviously had no intentions of moving. But I suppose the war changed all that. In fact, I bet they cut this tree in order to sale the timber to feed their family.'

"'Then why leave the roots?' asked the boy, still not grasping the concept with his immature mind. His father thought for a moment. Then he explained to him that even though the trunk, limbs, and branches of the tree had been removed, the roots would still remain as evidence that a tree had once been planted there. 'And, in turn, a family was here as well. Do you understand?' The boy nodded and asked his father if they could plant a tree like the person before them to prove they had lived in the house. His father smiled and agreed.

"In time, the tree grew very tall and strong. And the boy who loved his father very much had grown to be a man who admired the man who raised him to be that way. It was time for him to venture out into the world and find a wife and home for himself. As he stared out at the yard of his childhood home one last time before leaving, he--perhaps for the first time in all those years--noticed how large the tree had grown and how deep the roots must have ran. Knowing he couldn't move the tree itself, he turned to his father once more. 'When I was a young boy,' he said, 'you explained to me how people set down roots of their own. Well, now I am a man and I must venture out into the world, find me a wife and begin my own family... Plant my own tree.'

"'Yes, my son,' his father replied.

'But how can I do that when this tree remains here? This is my home. I was born here, raised here, and learned everything I know under this roof from you. Just as this tree only has one set of roots, I, too, have only one and cannot make a home for myself without denying this place. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I know that I only have one home. A man cannot make a new home for himself.'

"Without a word, his father went out into the yard near the tree. He knelt down and picked up a very small object from the ground. His son had followed him out and stood beside his father, wondering what the old man was doing. 'Do you see this?' He nodded. 'And do you know what it is?'

"'It's an acorn, Father.' He admitted lowly.

"'Wrong. It's a seed. A seed that came from this tree here. But when planted, it will become a tree of its own, with roots of its own. Here,' He handed his son the acorn. 'I want you to have this.' He said. 'Take it with you wherever your travels may lead. And when you do find a woman you love and a place of your own, I want you to plant it. When it grows, sets downs roots, and produces seeds of its own, I want you to give them to your children.'

"He stared at the acorn in his hand, thinking about what his father had just told him. 'And what will I tell my children, Father? What will I tell them when they're standing in their yard looking at their father with an acorn.. or seed in their hand, wondering what I could possibly mean by this gesture?'

"'You will tell them to plant it. Tell them a tree has one set of roots that keeps it held to one location. But it produces many seeds of its own that can travel. That are not held down by such roots. Seeds that can be planted anywhere one chooses for them. All over the world, should the soil be willing. And, yet, they all have one origin...'"

He had fallen asleep. He stood and placed the chair back in the corner. After kissing his boy on the forehead and making sure he was nestled safely under his blankets, he took something out of his pocket. It was an acorn. He set it on his son's bedside table. "See the world, my son," he whispered. "Plant this. Grow your tree. Never forget your home. Never forget me." With that, he blew out the candle and left.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.