The Money Tree
Regardless of your “neck of the woods”, I’m quite sure the money tree tale is one that is well known to you. Too many times to count I’ve heard that phrase offered up for any variety of requests. “Mom, Dad, I need a new copybook”: “What; you think I got a money tree growin’ in the back yard?”. Time and again this was the oft echoed response to all and sundry. Now, one particular afternoon, my younger brother happened upon some silver coins (collectors items, mind you) in one of our parents “off limits” drawers. Thirty guilders (one guilder being equivalent to US$ .55). Our mother had been saving these coins for God knows how many years and was quite protective of these coins, as she had carefully and prudently collected them over a period of years.
My little brother upon discovering this immense treasure, decided to embark upon a feat that heretofore had never been accomplished; being an entrepreneur at heart, he decided that he would become the richest man/boy on St. Maarten. Keeping his delicious secret close to heart, he embarked upon the natural sequence of the “money tree” theory.
Appropriating the treasured coins during our parents’ absence one afternoon, and with nary a word to my sister or me, he surreptitiously absconded with the treasured bounty. Not one soul missed the stash until many a week later. My mother, while going through the “off limits” drawer discovered the deficit of her treasured swag, and with a hiss and a shriek (to be compared to the illustrious banshee) summoned my father to witness the dearth of said collection. My mother; is was and always will be a woman of infinite unfathomable wisdom. Always the conciliator, never the disciplinarian, (my father filled that particular appointment exceptionally well) was quick to repudiate the possibility that her progeny might be the perpetrator of this callous misdeed. My father, however, being ever the misanthropist had disparate opinions. Nevertheless, he allowed my mother’s belief to sway his view for once.
It was thus that the ominous family meeting was called to order. When a family meeting was called in our household, there was never any discussion of “unsatisfactory grades” or “birds of a feather” or any such mundane balderdash. The very idea of a discussion of a family vacation was simply ludicrous (one summer we were rudely awakened at 5:00 a.m. with: get dressed! We’re off to Disney World!). The entire family’s presence was simply an assurance that the guilty party were present and conspicuous to the scrutiny of my father’s wary eye. Twitch not lest ye feel the bite of the switch! Many a time I’d been found guilty of some uncommitted transgression by my simple fear of the punishment that would be administered. The fear of reprisal only increased when the offense was unidentified, for the merest flicker or blink of the eye was usually judged to be a sign of guilt. And woe be unto the fidgeters (I always made a point of taking a trip to the ladies at the mere hint of a family meeting).
Did I mention the entrepreneurial spirit of my brother? Did I also mention that this boy was con to the bone? At the unveiling of the offense, this young man sat there (I believe he was 9 or 10 years old at the time) and didn’t even blink an eye! No twitching, no fidgeting, ice wouldn’t have melted on this kid. My younger sister at the time was still a little damp behind the ears and simply couldn’t be bothered with all this nonsense, and in her usual fashion was off in a world of her own (probably dreaming of ponies, a tale best told later…) and I, in my usual guilty fashion sat in my usual tremulous state with an obtuse hope of being overlooked.
It was apparent to all that on this occasion my father was a little preoccupied, for his punishment was not to be instantly meted out as was the norm. Instead, a much appreciated reprieve was granted so that we could “think it over and do the right thing”
Family meeting over, us siblings gathered in the back yard to discuss and determine the exact foundation of this accusation. Both my brother and sister seemed nonplussed as to the grounds, my brother in particular showing astonishment at this unwarranted indictment. I was skeptical at first, but his bewilderment ultimately came across as genuine.
Och ye of little acumen! It was not until just before nightfall that my brother’s puckish deeds were confessed. In an aside my brother professed quite vehemently; “yeah, just wait till that tree bear fruit, I bet you he go be sorry den!”
It seems that my little brother, in his entrepreneurial spirit, and with the oft mentioned money tree; had decided to use my mother’s silver coins to plant this wondrous tree. He could be seen watering this tree (or spot on the ground) liberally each day in congruence with my mother’s watering of her plants. To his credit, that mound of dirt was watered for a much longer time than I gave him credit for. It was not until the opening of baseball season that his much anticipated money tree was put to rest.
My brother Claudius Allen Halley is my hero. Though short his time on earth, he made use of it in ways unimagined. His life was cut short at the tender age of 26. That which he aspired to be, he surpassed in every sense of the word. Allen – wither thou goeth, soon I too shall follow, light the path for me….Rosevina
