My older boy, Royce, was about 3-1/2 and sitting on our porch on a warm summer’s evening indulging in a rare, sugary treat. I say that because ever since he was a baby we’ve been vigilant about what he consumed and candy and junk food are a rarity for him.
This particular treat was what he refers to as a “popsicle” though it is in reality what most of us would call a “freeze pop”… those long, skinny, plastic pouches filled with liquid which you throw in the freezer then eat by squeezing them up to the top.
“Daddy”, he asked, “where do popsicles come from?”
“From the popsicle tree,” I responded matter-of-factly.
I thought that would be the end of the inquiry, but the Missus shot me a sideways glance, which over the years I’ve come to unmistakably interpret as the “I hope you know what you’re doing here” glance.
“Where’s the popsicle tree?” he demanded.
“There’s one out in the woods behind the house,” I replied.
“Can we go see it? I want to pick some popsicles!”
M’lady’s “I hope you know what you’re doing” glance was now followed by another I grown accustomed to seeing. This would be the “see what you’ve started?” glance.
Thinking quickly I explained, “well, son, the popsicles don’t get ripe until winter when it’s cold out. So there wouldn’t be any on the tree right now.” I looked up to see my wife rolling her eyes as I gave her a look of my own …which would be the “howdya’ like that?” glance.
Not another word of the popsicle tree was spoken until the following February when one day and quite out of the blue, Royce asked, “are the popsicles ready on the popsicle tree yet?”
My absolute surprise that the boy could retain such a long ago conversation and ask about it unprompted must have been evident to my wife, who looked up with the “now whaddya gonna do?” glance.
I told him, “I suppose they’ll be ready soon…sometime when I have a chance I’ll go see.”
That afternoon while grocery shopping I was sure to buy a box of “popsicles” and sneak them to the basement upon my return.
After we put Royce to bed that night, I went downstairs and set to work. Carefully poking a hole in the end of the freeze pops (in the small portion where you can make a hole without juice leaking out) I then began threading twist ties through each one.
.
M’lady, seeking to retire, came down into the basement and looked at the “popsicles” splayed out on the floor. This time she added words to her unmistakable look of disbelief.
“You know,“ she began, “I learned a long time ago with you that most times it’s just better NOT to ask, but…what ARE you doing? ”
“Don’t bother me, woman, I’ve work to do!” I replied, before she said good night and with a shrug of her shoulders ascended the stairs with the often seen “Well I DID say for better or worse didn’t I?” glance.
That night, by the light of a (I kid you not) full moon, I traipsed into the woods behind our home. I found a suitable tree which sat by itself on a small rise and was just tall enough so it’s lowest branches could be reached by a boy approaching 4 years of age.
The moon was bright enough to allow me to fasten each of the twist ties to the branches until I had before me a genuine, bonafide, honest to goodness popsicle tree replete with a bounty ready for harvest!
The next morning after breakfast, Jillayne was busying herself and Royce had moved onto whatever he was going to do when he noticed me putting on a winter coat, boots, and gloves.
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Well, I thought I’d go out and pick me some popsicles from the popsicle tree is all” I causally replied.
Royce nearly jumped out of his socks.
“Can I go with you?” he pleaded.
“Well,…,” I began, “I dunno…”
Please , please , please, please ….PUH- LEEEZZE???
“Well, all right I suppose so,” I sighed. “But first you’ll have to get dressed in warm clothes, and we’ll need a popsicle pickin’ basket.” (Funny how there just happened to be one near the door)
Off we trudged through the snow and into the woods, and the boy was excited as could be. By and by we approached the clearing and I watched his face intently because I didn’t want to miss his expression when he noticed what was up ahead.
It was easy to tell when he did because his eyes got like saucers before he yelled, “THERE IT IS!”
“There what is?” I asked.
“The popsicle tree! The popsicle tree! …. THE POPSICLE TREE !!!!”
As wildlife for miles around no doubt scattered for cover, he took off at a gallop while he continued his excited yelling.
Satisfied as I was with my now undoubtedly successful attempt to create an ever lasting moment of elation for my pride and joy, I must credit my truly better half with having remembered to slip the camera in my coat pocket before Royce and I left the house.
We picked those popsicles, and believe me when I tell you there were none which ever tasted better.
He is the fruit of my loins. And the "harvest" is the joy of fatherhood.
This particular treat was what he refers to as a “popsicle” though it is in reality what most of us would call a “freeze pop”… those long, skinny, plastic pouches filled with liquid which you throw in the freezer then eat by squeezing them up to the top.
“Daddy”, he asked, “where do popsicles come from?”
“From the popsicle tree,” I responded matter-of-factly.
I thought that would be the end of the inquiry, but the Missus shot me a sideways glance, which over the years I’ve come to unmistakably interpret as the “I hope you know what you’re doing here” glance.
“Where’s the popsicle tree?” he demanded.
“There’s one out in the woods behind the house,” I replied.
“Can we go see it? I want to pick some popsicles!”
M’lady’s “I hope you know what you’re doing” glance was now followed by another I grown accustomed to seeing. This would be the “see what you’ve started?” glance.
Thinking quickly I explained, “well, son, the popsicles don’t get ripe until winter when it’s cold out. So there wouldn’t be any on the tree right now.” I looked up to see my wife rolling her eyes as I gave her a look of my own …which would be the “howdya’ like that?” glance.
Not another word of the popsicle tree was spoken until the following February when one day and quite out of the blue, Royce asked, “are the popsicles ready on the popsicle tree yet?”
My absolute surprise that the boy could retain such a long ago conversation and ask about it unprompted must have been evident to my wife, who looked up with the “now whaddya gonna do?” glance.
I told him, “I suppose they’ll be ready soon…sometime when I have a chance I’ll go see.”
That afternoon while grocery shopping I was sure to buy a box of “popsicles” and sneak them to the basement upon my return.
After we put Royce to bed that night, I went downstairs and set to work. Carefully poking a hole in the end of the freeze pops (in the small portion where you can make a hole without juice leaking out) I then began threading twist ties through each one.
.
M’lady, seeking to retire, came down into the basement and looked at the “popsicles” splayed out on the floor. This time she added words to her unmistakable look of disbelief.
“You know,“ she began, “I learned a long time ago with you that most times it’s just better NOT to ask, but…what ARE you doing? ”
“Don’t bother me, woman, I’ve work to do!” I replied, before she said good night and with a shrug of her shoulders ascended the stairs with the often seen “Well I DID say for better or worse didn’t I?” glance.
That night, by the light of a (I kid you not) full moon, I traipsed into the woods behind our home. I found a suitable tree which sat by itself on a small rise and was just tall enough so it’s lowest branches could be reached by a boy approaching 4 years of age.
The moon was bright enough to allow me to fasten each of the twist ties to the branches until I had before me a genuine, bonafide, honest to goodness popsicle tree replete with a bounty ready for harvest!
The next morning after breakfast, Jillayne was busying herself and Royce had moved onto whatever he was going to do when he noticed me putting on a winter coat, boots, and gloves.
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Well, I thought I’d go out and pick me some popsicles from the popsicle tree is all” I causally replied.
Royce nearly jumped out of his socks.
“Can I go with you?” he pleaded.
“Well,…,” I began, “I dunno…”
Please , please , please, please ….PUH- LEEEZZE???
“Well, all right I suppose so,” I sighed. “But first you’ll have to get dressed in warm clothes, and we’ll need a popsicle pickin’ basket.” (Funny how there just happened to be one near the door)
Off we trudged through the snow and into the woods, and the boy was excited as could be. By and by we approached the clearing and I watched his face intently because I didn’t want to miss his expression when he noticed what was up ahead.
It was easy to tell when he did because his eyes got like saucers before he yelled, “THERE IT IS!”
“There what is?” I asked.
“The popsicle tree! The popsicle tree! …. THE POPSICLE TREE !!!!”
As wildlife for miles around no doubt scattered for cover, he took off at a gallop while he continued his excited yelling.
Satisfied as I was with my now undoubtedly successful attempt to create an ever lasting moment of elation for my pride and joy, I must credit my truly better half with having remembered to slip the camera in my coat pocket before Royce and I left the house.
We picked those popsicles, and believe me when I tell you there were none which ever tasted better.
He is the fruit of my loins. And the "harvest" is the joy of fatherhood.
6 comments:
That was absolutely a great story.
That's the best story... you seem like a great dad!
Glad to have pictures of my grandnephew!!
AC
You probably shouldn't tell him about the money tree in the backyard. That could really cost ya.
Yours truly,
Meghan Backus
Dave that was such an amazing story!!! Good thing your better half remembered to give you that camera. Love it!!!! Always knew.you would be a great father! Take care, Nicole Brandt
Dave, that was truely a wonderful story and a memory your son will have for s long time.
JD
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