Family Climbing Tree
With a running start, hands outstretched, teeth gritted in determination, I leap with all of my might and grasp the lowest branch of my family tree. Technically, the tree belongs to my grandmother, Monna, but every single aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, and sister of mine has climbed this tree at some point in time. The tree is perfect for climbing. It’s thick, supportive branches are complete with the twists and turns a child needs to properly explore whatever could possibly be forty feet from the ground. The foliage serves as a shield from any harm the world could bring the climbing children. Within, we bond over seemingly deep conversations about the workings of the universe (i.e. who-liked-who’s and favorite foods). The Climbing Tree is unquestionably a tradition of my family.
During this particular adventure, I was nearly three years old. Since my uncle and I both have birthdays in September — only three days apart — my
mom drove my family up to Winder to celebrate a shared birthday. It was wonderful! I recall blowing the candles out with my Uncle Deron, and then eating ice cream shortly after. The piñata was too tough for my three year old swing to crack, so my older brother helped bust it open. After presents and sweets, it was time to climb the tree. We would jump and swing and hang and fall, going inside only when it was too dark to see the branch in front of you.
At the time, I was the youngest in my immediate family, so I rightfully could reach only the lowest of the branches. However, sixteen years later with several younger siblings and cousins, I’m no longer reaching for the lowest branch; I can start my climb almost halfway up the thickest branches of the tree. From here, I get to watch the younger members of my family climb higher as they grow more each year. In my family tree, I literally and metaphorically sit on a branch in the middle, placed between two moms and dads, 9 other brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles here and there, and countless cousins in between.
