So Crazy It Just Might Work

Have you ever seen a Weeping Willow tree? Long and thin branches, with even thinner green leaves that can catch the wind so the branches act like slithering snakes on Medusa's head. The sound is memorable, too. A rustling, slithering, staccato tapping sound. It gives the wind a great voice.

I had one in my backyard growing up in Richardson, Texas. But it didn't get there by accident or come from a nursery. It came from a big field behind my house, where I used to explore with my buddies Steven and Jason, start rock fights (with rock forts to protect us, of course), climb on stuff, and generally run free like kids did back then.

One afternoon I found a discarded Weeping Willow branch out in that field. I have no idea how it got there, but I showed it to my dad, and we decided to plant it in the backyard. Of all the things I could have done to that branch -- drag it behind my bike, hit my sister with it, make a roof for the rock fort, etc. -- it was something my dad said that raised my interest in planting it:

(Planting it to see if it becomes a tree is) "So Crazy It Just Might Work." So we did.

And it grew at a faster rate than even I did, to the point that when we moved it had grown into a real tree that equaled the height of the house. Years later I drove by that old house and you could see it towering over the roof from the street out front. That tree, but more importantly, that declaration my dad made, have stuck with me. In fact, I think it defines my cracked smile, who-knows-if-this-is-gonna-work kind of attitude to trying out ideas. Sure, I do my homework, but I tend to embrace the unknown. It wasn't crazy to plant that tree, but it paraphrased the quick shoulder shrug and the "let's go for it" that makes trying stuff fun.

That stayed with me throughout my teens, from trying new ideas musically, to starting a skateboard company and creating a local "rag" magazine. It stayed with me through the creation of 24 Hours of Booty, one of the most rewarding journeys I've ever taken. And it will stay with me as new ideas present themselves. Sure, I will do my homework, but there's still that boy from Richardson in me with a cracked smile and ready to see what happens next.