A young boy, upon finding two leaves in the backyard, rushed inside, arms outstretched, holding one leaf in each hand.
"I am a tree!" he exclaimed, hopping from foot to foot.
The boy's parents laughed nervously and shook their heads in unison.
"What an imagination that boy has," stated the father with a barely concealed frown.
"Yes, what an imagination," echoed the mother, displaying her teeth in a semblance of a smile.
The boy left, leaving behind a sense of disappointment that was almost palpable, and the parents (who didn't notice the boy's melancholy mood) reverted back to their original expressionless countenances so quickly that it was like a whiteboard being wiped clean. No one spoke again for the rest of the night.
The next day, the boy came in with an armful of branches and more leaves.
"Mommy, Daddy, I am a tree!" he rhapsodized, his voice escalating with each word until he was shouting. This time, the father fumed with silent fury at this second exhibition of abnormality, and the mother permitted a weak smile that flickered briefly before dying out completely. The boy slumped and excitement leaked out of him like air out of a balloon. He slowly turned to shuffle out of the room.
The next day, while the boy was at school, the mother checked his room to make sure it was clean and found that his bed was filled with fresh dirt.
When the boy came home from school, carrying his usual armload of shrubbery, he looked towards the dining room where the mother and father were, hesitated, and instead turned around and started towards his room.
"Young man, come here," boomed the father. "We'd like to have a word with you."
Reluctantly, the boy trudged into the dining room and stood, facing the parents.
The mother spoke cautiously. "We need you to stop carrying around leaves and branches and sleeping in dirt. It's not normal. What will the neighbors think?"
"But, Mommy," he said, in the tone that is usually reserved to explain the obvious to young children, "I am a tree."
"But what in the world could make you want to be a tree?" she pleaded. "What's wrong with being a mentally stable little boy?"
The boy scrunched up his face in thought as he searched for the words to explain. "Trees are... proud and beautiful. Like a king or a queen. They don't worry about parents or home or-or life. They're above all that. That's why I decided to become a tree."
The mothers' eyes filled with tears in a rare burst of emotion (although, not tears of worry for her boy, but rather mourning her own reputation if anyone were to find out about his abnormal behavior) and she fled the room.
The father picked up where the mother had left off in an authoritative tone. "This tree nonsense must end now. You are not a tree. You are a boy, and lately, a very foolish little boy. You are not to pick up any twigs, leaves, dirt, or any other part of nature from now on. Am I understood?"
The boy fought to blink back the moisture that was forming in his eyes. "This is not fair! Why can't you just let me be me?! I am a tree; why can't you just accept that?!
The fathers' eyes bulged and veins stood out against his glowing red skin. "YOU! ARE! NOT! A! TREE!" he bellowed with such ferocity the boy felt the vibrations in the floor.
The boy shouted through a waterfall of tears. "I hate it here! I hate this place, I hate my life, and I hate you most of all! I'm leaving to become a tree!"
The boy, without even bothering to put shoes on, ran as fast as his nine-year-old body would permit him to a nearby park. Without pause, he dug a hole using his hands as shovels. When he was done, he stepped into the hole and filled the dirt back in around himself, burying himself up to his knees. When night came, and the temperature dropped, his teeth began to chatter, and he shivered the night away.
A day later, the mother came to the spot where he had planted himself. "Son, why don't we forget about all of this nonsense and go home?" She glanced around, wary of any passerby that would be able to observe her speaking with her aberrant son.
He remained silent and refused to even look at her.
"You must eat!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air.
"I am a tree. Trees do not eat. We get our energy from the sun."
"Please-" her voice broke. "Just come home."
"I am a tree," he responded obstinately and refused to say anything else.
The boy stayed there for many days, until his skin turned sallow, and his cheeks hollow. His body quickly became emaciated, and he continued to waste away until there was almost nothing left. His parents begged and pleaded with him, but to no avail. He stayed in the ground, blending in with his surroundings more and more every day.
One day, his parents went to the spot where he had been half- buried for so long, but he was not there. There was only a tree, a majestic oak, standing proud and tall, its branches reaching for the sky. It had magnificent leaves of every hue of gold, auburn, and fiery orange. As the wind rustled through the spindly branches, one could almost hear a voice whispering, "Mommy, Daddy, I am a tree."
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