Self-Sacrifice: When is Enough, Enough?

Do you remember the book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein? Although I remember reading the poetry of Where the Sidewalk Ends when I was just a child, I was in my early twenties before I read The Giving Tree. A female friend of mine said it was one of her favorite children’s books. So one day, while at the book store, I decided to take a look.

Ever the sentimental fool, I began buying my favorite children’s movies and books long before I ever had children of my own. However, after reading through The Giving Tree, I put it back on the shelf and left the store feeling a little unnerved.
Growing up, I had been taught that love meant sacrifice, not merely compromise, but whole hearted sacrifice. An altruistic paradigm, or is it? In my early twenties, I was beginning to think otherwise.

As a mother, I understand the maternal drive to nurture and protect a child. I remember many of the sacrifices my mother made for me and I am sure there are many I do not even know about. As I make sacrifices for my daughter now, and I know there are many sacrifices yet to be made. But for some, self-sacrifice is not just a maternal instinct, but a interpersonal philosophy.

These benevolent givers, are always concerned with how others feel and what others need. They are willing to cater to those individuals at their own expense, because they believe it demonstrates how much they truly care. As I read The Giving Tree as a young woman, I recognized how the tree personified those people.

The tree loves a boy. When the boy is very young, he climbs her trunk, swings in her branches, eats the occasional apple, and sleeps in her shade. They are both happy.

But as he grows older, he grows more distant, returning rarely and always with greater demands. First, the tree sacrifices a season of apples, then her branches, and finally her trunk, until she is nothing more than a stump. Finally, the boy returns as an old man. The tree is still glad to see him but distressed that she has nothing else to offer:

“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 . . .

He sits and he rests, and the tree is happy.

When I took my daughter to the library yesterday, I decided to look for The Giving Tree. I thought I would read it again, and see how I felt about the story now. What was the author’s intent? What was the moral? I checked it out and took it home. This copy had a book jacket with a blurb that read:

“This is a tender story, touched with sadness, aglow with consolation. Shel Silverstein has created a moving parable for readers of all ages that offers an affecting interpretation of the gift of giving and a serene acceptance of another’s capacity to love in return.”

For those who live life like the tree, giving until their own resources are depleted, their brief moments of joy are interspersed with long periods of sadness. Deep down they hope that their sacrifice will not go unnoticed, that the immensity of their love will not go unappreciated. But often it does, or the gratitude simply doesn’t last long enough. Sometimes they are left desolate, sometimes bitter. But who’s really at fault?

I closed the book, and put it back in the canvas book bag, ready to be returned. The Giving Tree is not a story I want to share with my impressionable two year old. Perhaps I will give a copy to my daughter when she is old enough to begin analyzing literature; when we can discuss the value of compromise, and the dangers of sacrifice. When is enough, enough? Perhaps we never know until it’s too late, but I think it should stop somewhere before you’re hacked to a stump.