The Terrible Price of Importance

The Terrible Price of Importance

It was a frosted over autumn morning. The cold was nipping at my ears as the newly arisen sun just started to warm the air. My father and I were on our daily walk that we took through the forest behind our house. Well...it was less a forest and more of a glorified tree line that didn't occupy much more than in acre of land. There was a path that cut through the aging oaks and was hardened by me and my father's frequent use. Looking back it was amazing the way my father moved. Each stride was deliberate, but yet careless all at the same time. He knew where he wanted to go, but how and when never really seemed to matter to him.



On this day he was holding my hand as we moved through the trees. My short, fingers never lost circulation as my father's hand fully enveloped mine. We got to a break in the trees and looked out across a small, circular clearing.  A thin veil of mist levitated over the long unkempt grass. Without saying a word my dad looked up into an oak tree, let go of my hand, and in a quick series of motions he climbed up the tree and pulled an acorn off the branch. He clambered back down to the ground and knelt in front of me. He held the acorn in front of my face just inches apart from my nose. I struggled to keep from going cross eyed as he said to me.



"Zac, I need you to understand something. See what I'm holding? It has so much potential to be so much more. This small thing will one day grow to be as big and strong as the tree I just climbed. Maybe even stronger. Can you tell me why I'm showing you this?"



I stared blankly back at him as my 9 year old mind was twisted in confusion. I silently begged him to get to the point.



"I'll tell you what. This is going to be a small project of ours. We're going to raise this oak ourselves. You're going to make a lot of differences in this world; son and planting this tree will be one of them. You see, Zac, you have just as much potential as this tiny acorn. You have your whole life ahead of you. Please promise me something."



"Sure, dad. Anything."



"Promise me that the differences you make will leave you with happiness. Promise me that you won't do good just because of the assurance of a postmortem paradise. Promise me you will do good for the sake of being good."



"I promise."



A smile stretched across his face



"I'll hold you to that...and I know the perfect way to start."



He held up the acorn and slid it into his jacket.

The acorn spent the next two months in a plastic bag filled with dampened sawdust. I was surprised at my eagerness as I checked it nearly every single day waiting for it to begin to spring its root. My father would let out a hearty chuckle every time I complained about the time it was taking for the acorn to do its thing. "Patience is important in every process in life." The end of his statement was always met with one of my patented eye rolls. Finally around the two month mark it was ready and words couldn't describe my jubilation as we potted the acorn and placed it on a windowsill.



Another few months went by before my dad and I found ourselves on the same trail but this time with a small tree and shovel in hand. We walked out into the same clearing we saw months before and made our way to the center. We promptly dug a hole and planted the tree. My father put his arm around me and brought me to his hip. Without looking away from the seedling he spoke.



"This son...this is how it feels to make a difference."



The feeling was amazing. I felt my chest swell with pride as it felt like I was responsible for this new life form that would be here, where we put it, for possibly centuries.



It's a feeling I remember still to this day. This very day. It's today I find myself walking through the same cluster of trees. My black dress shoes sinking in the mud as I fight my way through the woods and torrential downpour. I throw my dress coat down into the mud as the heavy, wet fabric became nothing but frustrating. I loosen my tie as I walk past the very tree my father climbed up years before. I reach the edge of the clearing and look up to see this massive oak tree. After about 20 years the oak had grown to be nearly 20 feet tall. I focus at the terrible thing placed at the base of the tree as I raise the bottle to my lips to take another pull of whiskey. I walk about 10 paces before collapsing onto my knees in front of a slab of granite. I struggle to focus my bleary eyes on my father's tombstone. A lot has happened to bring me to this point. Rock bottom.

As my body and mind grew with the oak I grew more distant from my father, as most teenagers do. It was inevitable for me to discover the three major elements of high school; cars, girls, and alcohol. Looking back I was no different than any other teenager just looking for something to rebel against. But not even my badass, rebel mind could tear itself away from its studies. I did very well in high school, but it came at a price. The words I exchanged with my father seemed to draw fewer and fewer each day as I became more transfixed on my goal. Making a difference. I know now that he was just suffering in silence. He just accepted that the deterioration of our relationship was just a part of me growing up and I wish he hadn't.  After graduating high school I packed my bags and got on my way to Stanford.  After officially moving out I seldom saw my father. I easily got wrapped up in trying to obtain my law degree.  It was the second semester of my junior year that I received a call from my mother. Her voice was shaky and weak.



"Your father...the doctor...h-h-he..." She broke down on the other end of the line, but through her sobs and broken breaths she was finally able to tell me that my father was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and it was too late. There was nothing left for my father now, but slow, agonizing deterioration of his body and motor skills. She handed the phone over to my father and we had a rather short exchange. The magnitude of the situation hadn't hit me yet as I already had so much on my plate with school. He simply asked me how school was and told me he loved me before we hung up the phone. That was the last time I ever spoke to my father. Living in Vermont he was able to leave the world on his own terms as Vermont was one of the few states that followed the Death with Dignity Act. I wasn't able to make it back for the funeral as I was slammed with finals and too broke to make the trip back across the country.



So here I kneel at my father's final resting place. Four years separating that phone call and the present. In that same four years you will find the divorce I went through. While trying to climb the ladder at the law firm I let the urge to make a difference consume me. While I spent long days at the office my wife found someone new and they ran off with our child to Arkansas. Not to worry though, that job that consumed my life was quickly lost as I searched for answers in the bottom of every whiskey and vodka bottle I could get my hands on. It's crazy how fast I spiraled out of control without my father's guidance. All I can think about, as I sit here in front of his headstone, is how bad I need him.  As my mind traveled back to that day 20 years ago I remembered the promise I made him. I forgot the whole point of making the difference. I looked at the oak that stretched above the tombstone. I completely forgot the point of the lesson. I focused so hard on trying to make a difference I forgot to make sure that I was happy. I tried so hard to be important that I lost everything that was important to me.  I wrapped my arms around my father's tombstone and began to sob. For the first time since my adolescence tears left my eyes and ran down my cheek. The lifeless stone felt cold and wet on my palms as, for the first time, I realized the terrible price of importance.