Under the Sycamore

In a small New England town on a worn dirt road, a young boy and his father walked silently together. The man glanced sidelong at his son, gauging his feelings. Not wanting to disturb the quiet, he let the moment pass.

Shortly the man and boy arrived at a copse of trees by the side of a stream that fed an old swimming hole frequented by the locals when it was warm enough to swim outdoors. Just ahead was a gaggle of young boys eagerly chatting about their first great quest – this night they would sleep beneath the stars.

Standing together, still quiet, the man broke the silence: "Are you ready?" The boy swallowed hard and tried to be strong. He'd never really fit in with the other boys – he'd always been a bit different. He was the private kind preferring time in his own head and solitary walks in the woods.

The man reflected on his efforts to urge his son to this very spot, on this cool evening in the early spring. He slipped his arm around his son's shoulder, sensing his desire to return home. As the boy looked down at the dirt road beneath their feet, then off to the other boys setting up camp in the near distance, his eyes misted.

Looking up to his father, the boy simply said, "I love you dad. I'll see you tomorrow." and carrying his flimsy slumber bag and snacks for the night he walked away toward his challenge.

As he watched his son blend awkwardly into the crowd of boys, the man turned and brushed a tear from his eye. Under the sycamore that cool spring evening, both man and boy endured their rites of passage.

January 2026