Gardening Punishment

Gardening Punishment

           Riding home from the hospital, the mother, like a refrigerator, faced straight ahead and did not say anything. A deep frown accented the years of being the mother of her teen-age son, Rodney, who rode in the passenger seat.

           He snuck a peek at his mother before resuming watching businesses and houses go by. She did not turn to look.

           “Kevin started it,” Rodney said, facing Mom. “He threw the first punch.”

           Mom kept looking forward. “And what did you say?”

           Rodney knew he couldn’t lie; Kevin had told her what he said. “I said ‘the basketball team would be better off without you’. It’s the truth, though. I shoot baskets better than him, but Coach keeps putting him in.”

           The car came to a halt at their home, and both stepped out.

           “I’m ashamed of you for fighting, Rodney P. Slater,” said Mom.

           “The nurse said my nose isn’t broken like his was, so I must have won. Aren’t you proud of me for that?” asked Rodney.

           “No. I’m. not. I don’t care what you think. You will work in the garden dirt with me. So don’t plan on cleaning up right away.”

           “But you do all that garden stuff. I hate doing that.”

           “Exactly. It’s part of your punishment.”

           Rodney rolled his eyes.

           In the garden, Mom smoothed the ground to prepare it for planting. She handed Rodney a packet of radish seeds. “Open the packet. Then pinch some seed with your fingers and drop them into the row I’m making.”

           Drawing a straight line with the hoe, Mom watched Rodney out of the corner of her eye to see if he was doing it right.

           “I don’t like radishes,” Rodney muttered as he bent over and obeyed. Louder so his mother could hear, he said, “They are too strong flavored. We shouldn’t be planting them.”

           “The heat of summer makes them strong. Radishes are like words. They are little. And words said in the heat of the moment can be quite strong, like yours today. Cool weather keeps radishes edible, and words spoken with a cool head can be useful.”

           “I get the point. I shouldn’t have told him he shouldn’t be on the team.”

           “Let’s go to the strawberry bed.”

           As they walked to the berry bed, Rodney said, “What is there to do now? I like strawberries, but it is too early to pick them.”

           “It’s not too early to spread kindness.”

           “Huh?”

           “Kindness is like these strawberries. You can take and take and take by enjoying someone else’s hard work. Or you can produce more by spreading it.” Mom moved some leaves. She picked up a skinny, long, next-to-the-ground branch. “See this runner?” A few leaves and tiny roots showed it wanted to become another plant. “Spread these runners in bare places.”

Rodney kneeled and followed his mother’s instructions.

“Those runners extend in all directions,” she continued, “and so your acts of kindness should include strangers, not just family and friends.

“I paid for my lunch when I went through the drive-thru, as well as for the person behind me. I sent out kindness runners by doing that. Maybe she will do someone else a favor.”

“I get it.” Rodney drawled out the words. “Pay it forward. Can we quit now?”

“No … So that’s what kindness is called now, ‘pay it forward’. That’s what you could have done with Kevin. Pay it forward by teaching him to shoot baskets better.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Yes. Asparagus.”

This time, Rodney rolled his head and his eyes. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. It’s at least as important as the radishes and strawberries. The asparagus needs picked. Can you fetch my harvesting basket? It’s in the pantry.”

Rodney returned carrying a woven basket by its handle. “It had a knife in it, so, I brought it too.”

“Good.” Pointing at green, fingerlike projections coming at ground level, Mom said, “Cut off these shoots. Pick the ones that are six to eight inches long.”

Rodney sighed as he got down on one knee. “I suppose there is a lesson in this, too.”

“There sure is. Many people don’t like asparagus.”

“You got that right. Asparagus is green like pond scum.” Then he muttered, “Some punishment for a teenager.” He twisted his head to see Mom’s face. “Can’t you just say, ‘You can’t drive the car today.’ Or ‘You are grounded.’?”

“Your father will decide your full punishment later. The reason we’re here at the asparagus is because it’s like forgiveness. The need for forgiveness grows year after year. When you forgive someone right away, it’s like the tender shoots. See how easily they cut? When you forgive right away, your feelings are rewarded right away.” Holding taller, skinner fronds, she said, “See these? If you put off forgiving, it becomes harder and harder, tough and woody like these fronds.”

“What are you going to make me do? Forgive Kevin?”

“You bet. Your father and I will check up with that family to make sure you did. One last thing I want to show you.”

The pair walked toward some fruit trees.

“You see this short tree? We planted it three years ago when you were a freshman. It won’t bear fruit for two more years. We’ve staked it to be strong for fruit bearing, and to withstand wind and storms. We prune it every year for future maximum production.”

“Why do you go to the bother for just a few apples?”

“This tree is like you,” said Mom. “Trees grow at different rates, and your growth is unique to you. We believe you are worth the investment. We pruned some of your bad habits early, like not brushing your teeth and not making your bed. This punishment is like the stake. It’s meant to keep you growing in the right direction. We ‘go to the bother’ because we love you. Your father and I love you.

"Now. Go take a shower," said Mom.