Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:11):
This is Lee Habib and this is our American Stories,
and we tell stories about everything here on this show,
and we love to tell your story. Send them to
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(00:32):
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Do a little, do a lot, do your part, And
thanks so much ahead of time because we've gotten so
much support from so many listeners. And now on to
a regular feature with author Winter Persapio. This story is
about the lessons that Winter learned from the book The
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Giving Tree.
Speaker 2 (00:57):
I thought I had hidden it well enough. I shoved
it in the back of the bookcase, and it had
been successfully out of sight for nearly two years. But
they have no compunction about such things at the library.
These disturbing works of literature are just out on the shelves,
within reach of the youngest patrons. The bright green cover
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seized my daughter's attention, and before I knew it, we
were checking it out the giving Tree was back. I
have always hated the Giving Tree. This classic book by
Shells Silverstein is about a little boy who grows into
an old man, taking and taking and taking from an
apple tree. First he takes the apples to pick up
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some cash. Then he cuts down the giving tree's branches
for a house. Then whack down goes the trunk for
a boat. And the giving tree is nothing but a
stump which he comes back later and sits on for
a rest. And the misogynistic creep never once uttered a
single word of gratitude, and yet at every turn the
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giving tree is happy. I say that is clearly a
tree in need of some serious therapy, and that boy
is in need of some hardcore sensitivity training. As a mother,
there are many days where I feel like I am
the giving Tree. I spend my day running around as
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a demented waitress, cook, nurse, and cruise director. I referee
disputes manage egos, bite my tongue fifty times, letting only
a few inappropriate things slip. I carry a child down
the stairs who runs up them nightly. I rescue toys
from under a bed that either daughter can crawl under
without getting stuck. Halfway. I attend to the needs of
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this family of Leo's who spend the day roaring their
demands all over the land until about nine pm, until
at last they are all asleep. And I I am
a stump, and I am so not happy. I'm ready
to pick up my roots at ski Da to some
other orchard where I'll be watered and fertilized, where my
food will be prized. My lung branches admired, my thick
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trunk appreciated. I'm just not good at this giving tree thing.
I thought it would come naturally as a mother, but
I had no sense how much I'd need to give.
My cluelessness is undoubtedly the result of a long life
without children. No other generation has had so much me
time before becoming parents. Our generation has had the luxury
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of truly choosing the commencement of parenting. For those of
us who delayed bringing a new life into the world,
we now have to contend with habits and natures built
on a foundation that doesn't involve a whole lot of giving.
With the exception of a few thousand Peace Corps volunteers,
the rest of us have been the little boy taking
from the giving tree completely oblivious to its love and generosity.
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We focus on important things with all of our energy
and resources. These things were very important bc before children, cars, hobbies,
designer clothes, careers, lives of complete strangers aka celebrities. We
spent weeks smulling over choices, days discussing the latest trends,
and hours sharing the juiciest bits of gossip. When children arrive,
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all these seemingly vital activities fade from our lives until
we've found ourselves behind the wheels of minivans or they're
carefully disguised equivalents, wearing anything that came out of the
dryer and reasonable condition, talking on the phone about soccer schedules,
and boxing up our collections to set them out for
the next yard sale. Because now it's our turn to
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become the giving tree. Now is when we begin coughing
up the apples and branches and soon a trunk. Some
of us are better at being giving tree than others.
Some of us. Okay, so I'm a rotten giving tree.
I struggle more often than I like to admit with
the role of relentless giver. And then it happens. My daughters,
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perhaps sensing the impending root rot in their giving trees
suddenly begin to transform the orchard. They make me laugh,
helpful of clothes, put away dishes, and cover me with
hugs and kisses. They take my spirit in their hands
and toss it into the air like leaves, giggling as
they catch me in their arms. They say, thank you, mommy,
You're wonderful. And even though I taught them to say
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that as a joke, it still feels good on those days.
By ten pm, I don't care if I'm a stump.
I don't even realize I'm giving. I'm just mom, a
mother of two wonderful daughters, and being a giving tree
seems like the easiest thing in the world until the
sun rises and it begins again. I've come to realize
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that happy for a giving tree and a mother is
not about comfort and relaxation. Happy is about having my
little ones run beneath my branches, sheltering them in my shade,
tossing out a few apples, and in the end, giving
all that I have. Slowly, I am learning to be
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a giving tree as I'm trying to teach my children
a sense of gratitude for all the giving that surrounds us.
I am learning that this level of giving is not
something we know how to do the moment our children arrive,
Like gratitude, giving is something we have to learn. I
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guess at this point I'll dig out the Giving Tree
from our bookcase. Maybe if I pencil in an occasional
thank you You're wonderful, I'll feel just a little better,
at least until I get the hang of all this giving.
Speaker 1 (06:49):
And great job on that piece faith and a beautiful
performance by Winter Persapio, Like gratitude giving you something we
have to learn and you have to almost develop an
appetite for it. And my goodness, Winter has and what
a beautiful piece of storytelling. We're looking for your stories too,
about motherhood fatherhood, because these are two things that matter
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so much in this country. Now more than ever, kids
are starving for love. The lessons from the Giving Tree,
Winter Persapio's story here on our American Stories, Lee Habib here,
and I'd like to encourage you to subscribe to Our
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