At the age of two, I realized what a tree was. By the age of three, I had found out that people make things out of trees. Like stickers, and construction paper. Shortly after this revelation, it came to my knowledge that there are people who cut down trees every day – and get paid to do it. It was from this moment on that I wanted to be a lumberjack.
My dream of being a lumberjack was not a fleeting one. Proof begins with a self-made poster still in my possession entitled, “All About Me”, which we made on the first day of Kindergarten. The prompts were relatively simple: various questions any simple-minded 5-year-old can answer, like how many pets you have and what your favorite color is, followed by a box in which said Kindergartner could illustrate the answers to these intriguing questions:
Do you have any brothers or sisters? “Yes”, I wrote, and drew a perfunctory stick figure illustration of my little sister. Do you have any pets? “Yes”, I wrote, and drew a perfunctory stick figure labrador retriever.What is your favorite color? “Yes”, I wrote, and drew a dot with my green crayon. After such sophomoric formalities arrived the question of utmost importance: What do you want to be when you grow up?
I quickly grabbed my brown and green crayons, among others, and furiously went to work. Three minutes later, my Michelangelo stared back at me from my pre-treated white sheet of paper: there I stood, decorated in full beard, decked out in plaid shirt and work boots, chiseled arms thrown back in hard labor, sharpened axe cradled ever-so-manfully in my weathered palms, ready to lay a deathly blow to the sorry looking tree in front of me. I stared at the paper, smiled, and felt good.
Soon enough, however, my teacher came over to check on my work. Upon seeing what I had drawn as my ideal profession, a look of utter disgust emanated from Ms. Weibel’s face and immediately seared itself into the depths of my memory. Yet, before I could fully recover from my shock at the idea that anyone could think that cutting down trees is anything but beautiful, Ms. Weibel interjected: “Freddie, what is this a drawing of?”
“Me!” I responded with great pride.
“What are you supposed to be in this picture?”, she retorted.
“A tree chopper!”, I gleefully replied, not yet having expanded my vocabulary to include the word “lumberjack”.
“Oh! You mean a wood carver? That’s wonderful!”
“No, Ms. Weibel! A tree chopper! I want to chop down trees!”
Slowly, Mrs. Weibel sat down next to me. She then looked right into my eyes, speaking with more seriousness than a 5-year-old can possibly comprehend: “Freddie, chopping down trees is not something we want to do. Trees are good. Remember that.” With that, she took the liberty to write in large, block-style letters in the written answer section: “WOOD CARVER”.
To this day, my poster displays the contradictory illustration and written label (in blatant adult handwriting). While a bump in the road, the incident only made me doubly determined to pursue my dream – a determination that would continue for many years. Until one fateful night…
