Under the Pear Tree

When I was a child, there was a pear tree in the backyard. It was my dad’s pride and joy—it was big and beautiful and gave us a little extra cash when he’d sell the fruit at the farmer’s market. If the weather permitted, I’d sit under it and read, enveloped in my own little world. Until one of the neighborhood boys would try picking a fight, but I was a good child up to that point.

My brother liked it, too. He was never much of a reader, but sometimes he’d sit with me, listening to my stories as he looked for bugs to study. David was the smart one, into science and technology. Even now I wish I was more like him, but we both couldn’t be perfect children I guess. I know dad was proud of us both though, so I can’t be too envious.

I had two fathers once. They planted the tree not long after they got married. One day, one left without so much as a goodbye. I was very young, so I don’t remember him, but I don’t need to remember to hate him. He left our family, made my dad work multiple jobs to support me and David. At night, when he thought we were asleep, we’d see him in the kitchen staring at the bills piling up. I don’t even know how he did it.

He put so much effort into that tree, wouldn’t let it die. I wondered if he was really trying to keep his past alive through that. He deserved to have that happy family he dreamt of.

He was truly amazing, my dad. He was always encouraging, always loving. Even when we had to move from Chadwick to the city, he always made sure we were taken care of. My dad loved that horrible little town, and I know he was sad to go. But he got a job that could support all of us that didn’t involve sacrificing his own health. What other choice did he have?

I was fine with the move. I never liked that place anyways, though I know David struggled. He’s so kind, he’s never had trouble making friends. I tend to annoy people instead. I’m sure most of our neighbors were relieved they’d never see me again.

The last day in town, my dad spent a long time saying goodbye to the tree—maybe that dream, I don’t know.

He got a new family when we moved to Chicago, though. The girl next door, Casey, became my best friend, and our families became close. Sometimes I’d come home from school and see no one there but Mrs. Panella making dinner. He never said it, but he appreciated them more than he could put into words.

Me too, of course. The Panellas never told me I was too much or treated me like a nuisance. Always there for me.

Especially when my dad died.

He got lung cancer in my last year of college. My dad was my hero, so losing him was devastating, to say the least. As soon as I finished college, I went back to Chadwick. I’m not entirely sure why. Part of the decision was because it was a quiet, relaxing place where I could focus on healing. But I think it was mostly because it reminds me of my father. Of a time when things were good and I was happy.

Guess this place is like my pear tree.

I don’t walk by my old house anymore. Another family moved in. The kids seem to enjoy the tree.

He would have loved that.