When I was very young, just old enough to be left alone in our basement, I was exploring the dusty, untouched corners beneath the house. There were many interesting things for small hands to touch and curious eyes to inspect. There were rusty iron pipes and a broken hammer head. There were boards left there since the house was built. There were boxes filled with empty jars for summer's canning.
And there was the treasure chest.
I found it late in the afternoon, hiding behind an empty box and a stack of old newspapers. It wasn't a big chest, but it had every sign of being full of diamonds and gold. The arched cover and corroded metal straps held the promise of a pirate's treasure.
Quickly I pulled away the empty box. Eagerly I drew the chest away from the cramped corner where it lay. I opened it, hoping that my dream was true, but it wasn't gold I found there. It was a story – no, two. No! Three stories in the treasure chest.
The first story was a fairy tale of magic happiness and loving people. It glowed with lights, sun-dappled shade, and shining faces turned to face each other. Feast and festivals filled the air, work was a joy, the cities clean, the woods were fair.
The second tale was a tragedy, a kingdom filled with misery. The running brooks were small and dark. Danger lurked within the park. The hero tried his best, but flawed and helpless failed the test. The sky was dark and filled with rain; the people's lives were filled with pain.
The last of these was filled with wrath. The story took a winding path along which righteous anger grew. The final outcome you always knew: The hero clearly was in the right and had to win the final fight. It was a bloody triumph, though (for that's the way such stories go).
My mother always used to say,
It's sunny now; go out to play.
Or, when it rained or I was sad,
Go get the happy tale and don't feel bad.
But when I was sad I'd find the saddest one,
I couldn't take the people having fun.
And when my private anger kindled
I'd choose the one where bad was spindled
on the hero's spear.
The happy tale I joined
when my own joy wouldn't fail.
The greatest treasure of that box was to affirm and not deny the special feelings deep inside. No one tale there could be the best. They all were part of me and of my treasure chest.
January 10, 1981
(March 17, 2007)