Hair cut

The city was doing some tree trimming this week, and one tree in our front yard sits right on the boulevard. City workers made a whole lot of noise at 7am, buzzing saws and chippers blaring. The twisted, sideways and simply overgrown branches of the ash in our front yard was heavily cut and logs tumbled to the ground. My only son, in his dinosaur pajamas, looked out the front window at the men and their machines making all that noise. He waved to the man with the electric saw who moved around in a cherry picker bucket attached to a truck...and the man waved back before continuing to trim the dangling branches.
After a few minutes of just looking and viewing the sight, my son crumpled himself up into a ball on the couch and began to weep, sob, and then cry out with gigantic tears.
"What's the matter?" I said. "They're killing our tree! I love that tree!!" he screamed, as his cheeks became soaked in salty sadness.
"Honey, they're not killing it. They're just trimming it. You know, like when you get a haircut. The tree just needs a little off the sides, and then it will not only look better, but it will be healthier so it can grow better. "
A still (but not very long) pause, and he looked at me with disbelief.
He looked out the window once again, and was thrilled by the wood chipper that turned the discarded limbs into mulch and dribbled some leftover leaves along the ground. He smiled. This was so interesting to my boy that he barely wanted to get dressed for kindergarten this day.
The tree got a haircut.