The Monkey Tree
	Once upon a time there was a tree. It wasn't a very pretty tree. It started strong but then the winds came and bent it in many directions until it was twisted around like a scrawny monkey. Still, it offered cooling shade in the summer and its gnarled arms welcomed little children to come and sit inside. It bore a strange fruit which was too bitter to eat and left an awful mess on the ground. But it fed the birds. And in the autumn its leaves danced around the yard daring me to catch them. Glorious golden leaves.... At night the moon created monsters from the branches. I could see them through my bedroom window. Sometimes the headlights of a passing car would outline these creatures as they crawled towards my bed.  But I wasn't really afraid. I knew these monsters.  My family is just like that tree. There are no "heroes" here, no notable men. But they are a good, kind people, who have given comfort and nourishment to me. They were never "perfect" and there are the painful memories as well. But these shadows aren't monsters, they're just regular people trying to live an ordinary life. Recently I was talking to a widow about the loss of her husband. She said remembering him was "bittersweet." Bitter knowing that he was gone, sweet thinking of the times they had together.  Bittersweet, what better way to describe this....the story of my family.
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