It’s been so long I can’t remember the crime, but I’ll never forget the punishment: Dig up the fig tree in the backyard and plant it at Mumsy’s place in the country, where it would have room to stretch out and prosper. As I often did when sentenced to hard labor in the garden, I suspected this was my parents’ way of getting me to do their dirty work. Someone, or something, would have to pay for the injustice of it all.
An apt Easter morning meditation.