Lies And The Cherry Tree
As a child, there was a large tree in our backyard that the members of my family and our neighbors called a chokecherry tree. Our parents told us to never eat the little fruits from that tree, or we would choke to death. The fact was that the tree, in reality, was a wild black cherry tree that started to grow long before I was born. To this day, I don't think that my parents lied to us - more likely, they heard this tale about the chokecherry tree and out of ignorance and caution, they passed on the information to their kids.
Now, most children would simply heed the warnings given by their parents and not allow those unripened, bitter fruits to get even close to their mouths. But my older sister and I apparently were not normal children.
The lies begin
One late spring day as my sister and I were climbing the branches of that large tree, she came up with a great idea. She was about to spin a new yarn about the tree, and since I was only four years old, I was a gullible but willing guinea pig, ready to follow her directions and eager to join her in her adventures.
She then proceeded to place a still-green cherry in her mouth, and also placed a few in her nostrils and in her ears, too. She said it was safe as long as you didn't keep them in those locations too long. After all, she warned, "If you do swallow the cherry seed and survive the choking, a tree would begin to grow in your stomach." Then, she went on to explain, that I'd have to go to the hospital and have it removed by getting an operation. We weren't old enough to use big vocabulary words like surgery, but I had heard of getting an operation before and I wanted no part of that.
Imagine my shock when I placed one of the cherries into my ear and it didn't come back out. I remember worrying and crying, while still in the tree, concerning the impending trip to the hospital, and how I was going to tell my parents that I placed the cherry into my own ear intentionally.
I guess I was a slow learner
My sister didn't help the situation when she explained, "You better go in the house right now and tell Mom what you did. If you don't, that seed will start to grow into your brain and the operation to dig it out in the hospital will be much worse than if you swallowed the seed."
Of course, I absolutely trusted her. After all, I was still waiting for that large piece of burnt coal ash that we found in an old coal pile to turn into a chicken. Yes, earlier that spring, she proclaimed that if you place that particular type of coal remnant under your bed and wait a few weeks, it would turn into a pet chicken. I never did figure out why a sister, three years my senior, would find so much pleasure in telling fibs to her younger brother. Moving on...
A split-second decision
Before my feet hit the ground I knew what I had to do. I ran into the house and told my mom that I was lying in the grass and a chokecherry fell into my ear from the tree above and it didn't come back out. Yes, the guilt I felt for telling a lie was immeasurable, but paled compared to my fears of a doctor digging into my brain to remove chokecherry roots.
As far back as I can remember that is the only time I ever told an outright lie to either of my parents. I may have stretched the truth a few other times, but this was a total lie.
Off to the doctor
As soon as Dad got home from work, my mom relayed the story to him and we were off to the local doctor's office. He found no seed in my ear canal and reassured me that I would not have required brain surgery even if the seed was present. He indicated that he could have taken it out easily. What a relief!
My sister
I don't recall my sister accompanying us to that office. Looking back on that day, I bet she was afraid because my parents were about to become aware of her antics and her fibs.
And, shortly thereafter, my mom found the rock under my bed and made my sister get rid of it. It never did turn into a chicken. I often feel that my sister merited some kind of punishment regarding her chicken and seed tales, but I don't know if she ever got what she deserved.
Lies and a cherry tree - sound familiar?
There must be some correlation between telling lies and cherry trees. I learned long ago, in elementary school, that George Washington once said to his father, "I cannot tell a lie. It was I who cut down the cherry tree."
Turns out, after doing some research, I discovered that he never said that. And there you have it - yet another lie connected to a cherry tree.
