a 25-year-old wish (warning: tree mutilation story here)

When I was 4 or 5, I was told to make a wish on a star. It was not a shooting star, or even the "first star" of the evening, (which usually are planets). However, with an official adult-approval for a wish, I closed my eyes and wished as hard as I could. What did I wish for? Well, I wanted to fly. But being the stupid kid that I was, I wished for these beautiful and glorious white feathery wings. I knew they would be impractible at times, but maybe they would be worth it for all of the grand flying I would be doing. If I wasn't such an idiot, I could have just wished for an ability to fly, and not some avian means by which flying could be possible.

Later on, I grew less stupid, and my dreams became more practical. I was the first boy in the fifth grade to admit at the lunch table that I wanted to get married, and become a dad. (Of course, I was still partially stupid, because I also told my classmates that I wanted to be a farmer. I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C.) But this issue of legacy hit me at a young stage. Later that summer, I carved my name into a tree in the woods behind my house. My wish, at age 11, was that someday my own children would see this very carving. It is close to 25 years later, and my children just spent a week with their grandparents. This is an excerpt from a postcard that I received today:

"Tyler & I have been exploring 

in the woods.  We have found

a tree with your name on it."

It really made my day. (And I have already had such a great day to begin with!)
--gh