Perspectives

Me and Dillard, Volume 4, Issue 2

I don’t have a chance!” I loudly exclaimed to my friend Dillard.

I was only halfway through my second year in school, but I had already decided that wasn’t where I wanted to be. Oh, it wasn’t so much the school work, although I must admit, it seemed like a colossal waste of time to me since I had already made up my mind to become a world famous explorer.

To be fair, it wasn’t really the other kids’ fault either. It’s just that when they talked about their moms and dads, it made me sad. I just knew that I felt abandoned. And then one of the kids would ask me about my mom and dad. A seven-year-old kid shouldn’t have to answer questions like that, so I would get mad. Then I’d get in trouble. Likely that regular trip to the principal’s office was part of the reason I was looking to be a world famous explorer.

I couldn’t talk about it with my uncle and aunt. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. I knew they loved me and were doing the best they could to deal with a situation they hadn’t asked for either. Besides all that, no one could have done it better than they did, and for all the right reasons. Even so, I was feeling sorry for myself.
This particular Saturday in April, while walking through the woods to Dillard’s house, I was determined to tell Dillard how unfair life was. I spied him in his rocker as I walked around the side of porch. Sitting peacefully with his arms folded, slightly rocking back and forth and barely even moving the chair, he seemed bigger than life to me. In my mind, he was an artist and his canvas was the hand he had been dealt. It was at that moment that I flung myself down on the porch and blurted out, “I don’t have a chance!”

He continued to rock for a moment or two, and then stopped. He looked at me briefly, and then turned his attention across the road for what seemed an eternity. He moved his head slowly from side to side as he surveyed the landscape. He then leaned toward me, turned his head sideways just a bit and asked me, “Did you notice anything unusual today? Did you take time to look while you walked, or did you just walk?”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but as usual he said something I didn’t expect. He once told me, “The moment you realize you can swim underwater will be more important to you than how many seconds you can swim underwater, so learn what’s important.” What was really strange, we weren’t even talking about swimming at all and as usual we were sitting on the front porch.

I didn’t know what he wanted me to say, so I said nothing at all. He broke the silence by asking again, “So, on the way here today, what did you see?”

“Nothing,” I said. He stood up and stepped off the porch. He walked slowly in the direction that I had just walked. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Going to see if you can see it this time,” was his reply.

We walked a few hundred yards and stopped. He sat down on an old log and with his right hand made a sweeping motion as if to reveal something grand. “Now what do you see?” he asked one more time. Again, I replied, “Nothing.”

“It’s not that complicated, son. If you are looking for something that is not here, you’ll never find it,” he said. “I don’t get it,” I replied. “Of course you don’t,” he responded. “And because you don’t get it, you’ll never find it.”

He pointed to the tree and said, “You see that, right?” I didn’t have a clue what this had to do with anything. But I knew enough to know that we weren’t just looking at trees. I replied, “Yes, it’s a dogwood.”

“Sure is pretty, don’t you think,” he asked. I nodded in agreement. He continued, “It’s really just a scrawny little tree. Look at it closer. It is surrounded by all that tall timber, but what you really notice is the dogwood.”

He wasn’t finished. “It is not the dogwood’s responsibility to provide shade. It will never be the tree that folks covet for lumber to build their homes. No, this little tree is made of finer stuff than that. The dogwood is for building hopes, dreams, and memories. From the first moment you see the mystery of the dogwood; you will remember exactly how it looked after the blooms have faded. And you’ll long for its return before it arrives next year.”

We quietly stood side by side and he asked me again, “Do you see it?” This time I answered, “I’m trying. Help me see it.” He knelt down beside me, pulled his hat down, and slightly smiled. He said, “Apparently son, you don’t have to be the tallest tree in the woods to make a difference. You are your chance.”

“I get it,” I hugged him and smiled broadly. Dillard stood up and said, “How about some biscuits and gravy?” I picked up the pace and asked, “Can I have some molasses with mine?” He said, “Sure you can.”

The dogwood reminds some of the return of spring, others of Easter, and still others of the legend of the cross, but thanks to Dillard I’ll always see it differently than most.

My time will come…