“Once, there was a tree…And she loved a little boy.”
“And the boy loved the tree… very much!”
“I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money.”
“Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.”
“I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house.”
“Cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.”
“I want a boat that will take me far away from here.”
“Cut down my trunk and make a boat. Then you can sail away… and be happy.”
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein has always been one of my favorite stories. Even as a child, though, I found myself a bit bewildered by its narrative.
I’ve always loved trees. Climbing them, swinging from their branches, building forts, or simply standing in awe of their majestic beauty. Because of that, I resonated deeply with the kinship between the boy and the tree in the story. And who could not love the tree? Her unselfish sharing creates a profound bond of unconditional love and loyalty.
The boy, however, is more complex. On one hand, he has this amazing tree that provides endless joy and possibility. Yet he never expresses gratitude or appreciation—only ever-increasing demands, the constant refrain of “I want”.
Perhaps a more fitting title for the story might be The Giving Tree and The Taking Boy.
The tree embodies self-giving, unconditional love that brings joy. The boy’s engagement, by contrast, is transactional—without gratitude and always wanting more.
This relational dynamic invites us to ponder: is my interaction self-giving, or is it self-taking? Is it merely transactional, or can it be transformative? Does it leave me unsatisfied, or does it lead to joy and gratitude?
“For it is in giving that we receive.” — St. Francis
“To be fully human is to be defined by self-giving… Generosity is not about giving what we can spare, but about letting another’s need claim our love.” — Rowan Williams
And in the end…
“I don’t need very much now,” said the Boy. “Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down… sit down and rest.”
At last, the boy and the tree find mutual companionship — a love not defined by taking or giving, but by the simple joy of being together.