My good friend in elementary school was a sometimes complicated guy named Milo. He liked comic books and always dreamed of being a doctor. Our friends never understood why he had this interest in medicine but they liked hanging with him at the court, the few times he wasn’t studying. They secretly admired his desire to do more than they had dreamed. But, Milo was clearly different. He always kept his feelings hidden from his friends. One rare afternoon when Milo wasn’t studying or reading we caught him looking at the willow tree outside his house. His green eyes almost seem to well up with tears and his black hair drifted back from his face with the passing breeze. We talked in whispers about what could have happened to him and why that tree troubled him so deeply. I asked him why he didn’t like the tree? I was assuming by his reaction. Milo replied it’s just a tree. I could tell there was more to the story. Milo was just not the same since his return from his Grandmother’s house two years ago.