Searching for My Family Tree

Short Story by Scott Finelli + Interview

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It was the autumn of 1961. I had just turned eight. John F. Kennedy was our new president. Roger Maris hit 61 dingers that season and the dreaded Yankees were once again World Series champs. By November, the trees were bare, and the cold wintry winds reminded me that Christmas was drawing near. It was time to find our tree.

We lived in a suburban Maryland neighborhood bordering a large cemetery, a sizable portion of which remained uncleared, patiently awaiting more deceased souls requiring new gravesites. The area was heavily wooded, including some conifers suitable for a Yuletide centerpiece.

My best friend, Skeeter, and I had explored the area extensively in our childhood travels. It was a different era, and parents were less restrictive of kids’ activities. We had built many forts in those woods and battled numerous unseen enemies. I am certain we preserved the planet from destruction on several occasions.