When Doug moved back to Crystal Lake the second time, he and his wife had either been hammered on the sale of their houses or, due to the multiple moves, unable to make any money off them. With the added expenses of his education, vehicles, programs for the children, some surgeries, and of course the moves, and lacking the resources for a down payment, their only option was to rent a home. They did that and entered into a contract to purchase it, which they eventually did. Because the house had always been rented, there was no landscaping—not a tree, not a bush, not one hosta, nothing.
Upon buying the house, upgrading the landscaping was the first thing on Doug’s mind. In fact, he went crazy, which irritated his oldest son, Roger, who couldn’t understand why his dad was always complaining about money and yet was willing to spend it on azaleas and weigelias and maple trees and burning bushes and spireas and the like. It also irritated his wife, though she tended to like the finished product after he undertook one project or another . . .
As Diane was planning for Roger’s graduation party, securing date options from the more distant relatives, Doug was reading the newspaper ads. During the third week of April, he migrated over to the closest nursery and began to snoop around. Then he found just what he was looking for. A white birch tree. He put it in the back of the trailblazer and brought it home. Diane happened to look out the back patio door and caught a glimpse of Doug bringing the tree to the back corner of the yard.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she said. “He’s at it again.”
Roger overheard and looked out the back. He just shook his head.
Doug put the tree in the ground and came back in the house to wash up . . .
Roger’s back was to his dad when he heard his voice. “It’s your tree.”
Roger turned around. “What do you mean it’s my tree? I don’t want a tree. I’m leaving here anyway.”
“It’s your graduation present. I got you a tree.”
“Are you kidding? I could care less. Why would you do that?”
Doug tried the best he could.
“Roger, everybody needs roots. You’re so anxious to get out of here and you’ve been shuffled around so much, but you need to know you have a home. The tree means that you can never really leave us--a part of you will always be rooted in this home. The house is a mess, but it’s ours. It’s the closest thing to a home we’ve had. You can’t go away if you don’t know you have a home to come back to.”
Roger was incredulous. This was all folly to him . . ..
“Trust me, son. We hope to live here for a long time. Even make it nice. But even if we move, you’ll be back here, driving around the block and see the tree and realize you had a home. You’ll realize someday it wasn’t so bad. When you see that tree tall and straight, you’ll realize you had to grow up somehow . . .”
Memorial Day came as did the graduation party with grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles, cousins, and Roger’s friends stopping by . . .
People started collecting their presents, and when grandma handed Roger the first one, he said, “Hey, did you guys see the tree dad got me . . .”
Roger was getting anxious to take off with his buddies . . .
Doug got up and managed to catch him before he left.
“What do you want?”
“Here, here’s your present . . .”
It was a framed picture that Roger took of the marquee outside the Chicago Theater announcing Bob Dylan and His Band from the time Doug took him downtown to see Bob . . .
“Well, that birch tree wasn’t really for you. It was for me.”
“Why did you decide to get a birch tree?” Roger asked, getting impatient to leave and feigning interest . . .
“Because birch trees can be a little difficult. You have to treat them just right and take really care of them to keep them healthy. I made a lot of mistakes over the years. I’m going to love that tree. You really will drive by some day, and the tree will be healthy, tall and strong, just like I said it would. I’m going to give you a home one way or the other. Even if it is a little late.”
Then Roger left with his friends.
He’ll come back, Doug thought. He’ll come back.
