A long time ago I used to live in Temple Terrace near Tampa. My neighborhood was an old on beginning to succumb to the inner city influence creeping in near by. At the time I lived in a little house in the middle of the street on a 50x 100 lot. The house retained the title of the Smurf house, aptly named for the bright blue color my dad reapplied each year. Across the street lived on of my bet friends, Brian. Their place had a lush green yard and a white concrete sidewalk that led up to a medium sized tan house. The entire family was Dominican; I distinctly remember the smells of native dishes wafting through the air. But over all, the most prominent feature was their giant oak tree.

            The oak tree sat in their front yard and was of monstrous proportions. The tree must have been a hundred year old boasting huge majestic limbs. Each limb went out at least twenty feet and was big enough to support full grown man with ease. It was my favorite tree because f it’s thick out mass of leaves that couldn’t really be seen through. The dome it created left a hollow cavern made of leaves in which to hide in. Brian and I would sit or climb for hours in that tree talking, playing, and doing our other six-year-old kid things. Together we would find bug—flick them off, play good guy bad guy, and chase each other around and out of the tree.

            One of my favorite memories in that tree happened every Fourth of July. Since both my dad and Brian’s dad were born on the Fourth of July, the two would mess around with each other. One of the big things was for each to set up in their back years and shoot bottle rockets across both roofs straight into the others back yard. Brian and I would always sit up in that tree for a couple hours watching the barrage go back and forth. To a couple of little kids, the prospect of watching our dads shoot flaming fireworks at each other was just way too much fun. Personally I would pretend the two houses were pirate ships trying to sink each other, but that’s another story.

            To me that oak tree was a club house, pirate ship, mad laboratory, bunker, fort, and medieval castle all rolled into one. For hours my friends and I would climb letting our imaginations go wild; all the while being chased and harassed by both Brian’s dad and older brother. I think back and realize I still cherish the values that tree held. It was confined, cozy, lush, dark, and a free place for the imagination.

            That tree was actually one of the reasons I really wanted to move to our current home. The main difference between our old and current home is that instead of one grand tree, there are a hundred much taller trees. Every tree has a hidden story waiting to be explored. Each one ahs a history that might not even be real, but it can be what you want it to be.