The Fairly Odd Mother

Here’s the recap:

About a year ago, I saw the book on the library shelf and called the girls to me excitedly. We snuggled on the squishy library couch, I open the book and read the first two pages, “Once there was a tree. . .and she loved a little boy.” Already I heard my voice begin to thicken, the lump rising in my throat. Belly looked at me in alarmed amusement—she is quite used to my weeping over children’s stories—and said, “Mommy, you don’t have to read this now.” But, I persisted and choked through the rest of the pages.

By the time I got to the last few pages, tears were openly streaming down my face and I practically hiccuped the last few lines out. I don’t think the girls had any idea what this story was about; they just know it made mommy dissolve.

When I first read The Giving Tree, before I had kids, I had no idea that some people hated this story. It wasn’t until I went to buy this book as a gift for a friend that I happened upon the controversy.

Check out the comments on Amazon. One recent reviewer screams, “Poison! Poison! Poison!” Someone else says, “it is a cautionary tale for people considering entering an abusive relationship”. Someone else claims, “a terrible thing to be teaching to children!”

‘Scuze me?

Now, on the off chance that you have not read The Giving Tree, let me give a brief overview: a little boy visits a tree every day to play, and they love each other very much. As he grows, he sees her less often. Each time he returns, he has a need and the tree fills it for him, whether it be giving him apples to sell for money or its branches to build a house for his family. By the end, the tree is just a stump and the boy is an old, old man but somehow they both find comfort in each other.

I suppose if you examine this book very literally, it could be disturbing. Yes, the boy/man does take and take from the tree, and by the end, the tree has given him everything she has. However, I do not see this as a call for children to bleed their parents dry, or for men to abuse women.

Instead, I am reminded of how a child’s relationship with his parents (or other parental figure) changes with time. If I am supposed to represent the tree, right now, the boy is young. I am his best friend, confidante, playmate. I offer stability, security, food and fun.

As the boy grows, though, he will rely on me less for companionship. I will mourn the separation but will be thrilled with the reunions. I will still do what I can to make him happy.

After I am dead (a stump), there will be very little I can do for my grown boy. Here, I just hope that my memory can offer comfort in his final hours.

Is this what Shel Silverstein meant? I have no idea. But, this is the story that flashes in my head when I drop my girls off for a playdate, or watch them run away from me on a playground to play with other kids. It is what I think of when my four-year-old asks me for some ‘pwivacy pweez‘.

And then, I look down at my own little boy who is still by my side, and smile.