Tulips
By Arlene Levin
(c) 2019
(c) 2019
Dying tulips stood in the vase on the oak table. They were a birthday present. As I unwrapped the bouquet I noticed the tulips weren't very healthy. The vendor had skillfully packaged the flowers in such a way as to disguise their real condition. In any case, I don't do well with tulips and they don't do well with me. It's a story from my childhood.
My mother married my stepdad in 1950. When we moved lots of things were new to me. In Chicago we lived in a huge apartment building, in Milwaukee our new home was on the first floor of an old two flat. There was a coal burning heating system. We had a party telephone line. We had milk delivered. We even had a bread delivery man. At lunchtime he'd come up the back stairs with bread and donuts, cookies, lots of special treats and a big smile.
Life was good. Unlike our apartment in Chicago, we had a front yard. We had a back yard too. Even though we were in a big city, this was as close as I ever came to a "Dick and Jane in the Country" existence.
In our neighborhood there were single homes, big front yards for "show" and back yards for play and hanging laundry. Colorful flower gardens were planted beside big front porches.
I was in second grade. The school was close by and I walked there by myself. I even came home for lunch. I felt every inch of my seven years. But, during terrible snowstorms, the school still insisted on calling my mother to come and get me.
It was finally Spring. The barrenness of the winter passed into an explosion of colour. Trees began to bloom, grass greened and it seemed like hundreds of earthworms came out with every rain. On my way to school I walked along tree lined streets that created a cooling canopy of green. There were colorful flowers, starting with crocuses then daffodils, irises and bushy stands of lilacs . And, of course, there were tulips.
One day on my way back to school after lunch I was attracted to some beautiful pink and purple tulips. In the morning a classmates brought our teacher flowers. "What a good idea," I thought looking at the most beautiful tulips I'd ever seen. Set way back from the street, these were planted along a big front porch.
I remember pulling up the tulips as being more of a challenge than I expected. Having little experience with plants in general and tulips particularly, I didn't expect the mess of dirt and the huge bulb at the bottom of this beautiful flower. I couldn't break off the stem from the big bulb. This was much more than I bargained for but I was determined.
In the end, I took my teacher just one tulip with the bulb still attached. The other flower I left by the big hole it came from. Dirt was scattered everywhere, even on me. I brushed it off as best I could and dashed off to school.
I can't remember the condition of the tulip I finally gave to my teacher. I don't remember her expression or even her thanks because those things were overridden by what happened when I got home.
My mother sat me down and asked me about my day.
I didn't have much to say, "It was ok"
Then in a calm but serious tone she said "Mrs. Carter who lives down the street saw you pull up Mrs. Frank's tulips. Did you do that?"
I flushed with embarrassment and guilt as I felt my face turn bright red.
I didn't know what to say so I just nodded.
"And what did you do with them?"
"I took one to school for my teacher".
"Well that was a nice thing to do for your teacher but what about Mrs. Franks?"
What could I say?
"And did you know that tulips grow only one flower each year?"
"WHAT! Just one flower?" I said incredulously.
And then with conviction I thought "Just one flower. Now that is a stupid plant".
Since then I have never taken anything that wasn't mine to pick. Well, I take that back, hitchhiking in Algeria I stopped to pick the sweetest oranges I'd ever eaten. But tulips, I still don't do well with tulips and they don't do well with me.
In our neighborhood there were single homes, big front yards for "show" and back yards for play and hanging laundry. Colorful flower gardens were planted beside big front porches.
I was in second grade. The school was close by and I walked there by myself. I even came home for lunch. I felt every inch of my seven years. But, during terrible snowstorms, the school still insisted on calling my mother to come and get me.
It was finally Spring. The barrenness of the winter passed into an explosion of colour. Trees began to bloom, grass greened and it seemed like hundreds of earthworms came out with every rain. On my way to school I walked along tree lined streets that created a cooling canopy of green. There were colorful flowers, starting with crocuses then daffodils, irises and bushy stands of lilacs . And, of course, there were tulips.
In the end, I took my teacher just one tulip with the bulb still attached. The other flower I left by the big hole it came from. Dirt was scattered everywhere, even on me. I brushed it off as best I could and dashed off to school.
I can't remember the condition of the tulip I finally gave to my teacher. I don't remember her expression or even her thanks because those things were overridden by what happened when I got home.
My mother sat me down and asked me about my day.
I didn't have much to say, "It was ok"
Then in a calm but serious tone she said "Mrs. Carter who lives down the street saw you pull up Mrs. Frank's tulips. Did you do that?"
I flushed with embarrassment and guilt as I felt my face turn bright red.
I didn't know what to say so I just nodded.
"And what did you do with them?"
"I took one to school for my teacher".
"Well that was a nice thing to do for your teacher but what about Mrs. Franks?"
What could I say?
"And did you know that tulips grow only one flower each year?"
"WHAT! Just one flower?" I said incredulously.
And then with conviction I thought "Just one flower. Now that is a stupid plant".
Since then I have never taken anything that wasn't mine to pick. Well, I take that back, hitchhiking in Algeria I stopped to pick the sweetest oranges I'd ever eaten. But tulips, I still don't do well with tulips and they don't do well with me.
Comments
Post a Comment