Chapter 40
I’m Not Going Bananas!
Located as you first walked into my yard there was a rectangular flower bed. At the front of the bed, there was a prickly pear cactus. The Yellow Rose of Texas was its other name. I now find that prophetic because that is what my second husband started off calling me as we met in Texas and I was slightly jaundiced. The present has a way of stretching its fingers into the future.
At times, the present environment reaches back into the past and reminds you of a truth you forgot to even consider. That is where the tree comes in.
“What tree, mom?”
“The banana tree out in the yard! Jane, it is loaded!”
“That’s not a banana tree, mom.”
Silence.
“Come here! I’ll show you.”
Jane’s slow movement did not match my enthusiasm for the banana tree.
“See Jane! Bananas.”
“Yes, Mom.
Those are definitely bananas.”
“Isn’t it wonderful!
We are growing bananas on a tree in our own yard!”
“No, Mom. It’s not a banana tree.”
“But there are bananas on it and it’s a tree… “
“It’s not a tree, mom. Bananas are an herb.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, we learned that in school.”
“Why didn’t I learn that?”
“You were raised in Alabama?”
“Okay, good point.”
“Well, as soon as they are yellow, I’m picking them.”
“They are ripe right now.”
“They are green.”
“Ripe.”
“You learned that in school too?”
“No, that one is common sense.”
“They are hard.”
“They get picked and ripen the rest of the way off the vine. Like tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes are a fruit.”
“I know that, Mom.”
“Well, I’m going to let them go about another week, then pick them.”
“Okay, but they are ripe right now.”
Less than twenty-four hours later, I pull into the driveway.
I spy my garner next to the tree with his machete.
He lopped off every banana with one swing!
He’s walking off with my bananas.
I get out of my car, staring at him.
The disappointment is all over my fallen face.
“Miss, they are ripe, you no want. I take them.”
I see that.
“I give them to you if you want them.”
That’s when I realized those weren’t his only bananas.
He was harvesting everyone’s bananas on the block.
He was probably selling them for extra money.
Or making a lot of banana pudding.
The present reached into my past and tapped me on the shoulder.
Then I remember.
I was six.
I got sick while eating a banana popsicle.
I don’t eat bananas.
I haven’t eaten bananas in twenty-seven years.
“No, they are yours.
You work in the yard.
You take care of the plant.
It’s yours.”
Every now and then, something from our past lends a helping hand when facing what we might think is an injustice in the present.
To me it gently pointed out the simple truth.
I knew almost nothing about bananas I thought were mine.
I didn’t know it wasn’t a tree.
I didn’t know it was time to pick them.
I didn’t know who normally harvested it.
Most importantly, I had forgotten that I didn’t even like bananas.
I was preparing to fight for something I didn’t want. Now, I must determine if the thing in front of me is something I actually want to keep.
Daniel's Den 