to　talk　to？　Why　didn't　I　have　a　best　friend　like　everyone　else

seemed　to？　Sure；　there　were　kids　I　knew　at　school；　but　none

of　them　were　close　friends。　They'd　have　no　interest　in　climbing　the　tree。　In　smelling　the

sunshine。

That　night　after　dinner　my　father　went　outside　to　paint。　In　the　cold　of　the　night；　under　the

glare　of　the　porch　light；　he　went　out　to　put　the　finishing

touches　on　a　sunrise　he'd　been　working　on。

I　got　my　jacket　and　went　out　to　sit　beside　him；　quiet　as　a　mouse。

After　a　few　minutes　he　said；　“What's　on　your　mind；　sweetheart？”

In　all　the　times　I'd　sat　out　there　with　him；　he'd　never　asked　me　that。　I　looked　at　him　but

couldn't　seem　to　speak。

He　mixed　two　hues　of　orange　together；　and　very　softly　he　said；　“Talk　to　me。”

I　sighed　so　heavily　it　surprised　even　me。　“I　understand　why　you　e　out　here；　Dad。”

He　tried　kidding　me。　“Would　you　mind　explaining　it　to　your　mother？”

“Really；　Dad。　I　understand　now　about　the　whole　being　greater　than　the　sum　of　the　parts。”

He　stopped　mixing。　“You　do？　What　happened？　Tell　me　about　it！”

So　I　told　him　about　the　sycamore　tree。　About　the　view　and　the　sounds　and　the　colors　and　the

wind；　and　how　being　up　so　high　felt　like　flying。　Felt

like　magic。

He　didn't　interrupt　me　once；　and　when　my　confession　was　through；　I　looked　at　him　and

whispered；　“Would　you　climb　up　there　with　me？”

He　thought　about　this　a　long　time；　then　smiled　and　said；　“I'm　not　much　of　a　climber　anymore；

Julianna；　but　I'll　give　it　a　shot；　sure。　How　about　this

weekend；　when　we've　got　lots　of　daylight　to　work　with？”

………　Page　19………

“Great！”

I　went　to　bed　so　excited　that　I　don't　think　I　slept　more　t