Sally Huggins Toner

This morning, I came across a rewrite of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. Yes, the story that, in adulthood, we all come to see in a more realistic and pessimistic light. Trust me, I know. We actually performed a play version of it at Blessed Sacrament Elementary School when I was in the fourth grade. I think I played one of the apples. It was a very 70’s version of Catholic school guilt. So I was thrilled to find The Tree Who Set Healthy Boundaries by Topher Payne. Here’s the link to the piece: https://www.topherpayne.com/giving-tree

“Perfect!” I typed as I shared the link on Twitter. “Now if someone can fix the ending to Charlotte’s Web…hey, I have an idea.”

I have often said that To Kill a Mockingbird made me want to be a teacher, but Charlotte’s Web made me want to be a writer. If anyone could write about friendship as concisely, as gorgeously, as E.B. White, well, I wanted to be that person. And I didn’t used to have a problem with the ending. Until I had to read it aloud to our oldest child.

“Hey, thanks for throwing me under the bus!” Mark said after he finished it for me and tucked her in. “What a great thing to read to a child…’and Charlotte died…ALONE.’” I couldn’t argue. I had dissolved during the paragraph where Wilbur concedes the unevenness of their relationship, the fact that she saved him, but he never did a thing for her, before she corrects him and says, “…but you were my friend.”

Aimee was five, I think, and at the time, I dried my tears and took the typical Sally-the-Optimist stance. “But what about Nellie, Aranea, and Joy? What about her daughters? Wilber saved them; he told them all about their mother.” I actually do think there is a sequel too, right? Something about Wilber’s Great Adventure? It is true that the story never really ends with a single person, a single life.

The reality is, though, there are those mornings we wake up and realize we are Wilber, grieving someone unreplaceable. Before those babies dropped from the barnyard ceiling at first light, he was gutted. I suppose there were times when he felt that emptiness for the rest of his days, even as he lived to see generations of Charlotte’s progeny have other lives, maybe save other pigs. 

Gutted. It’s the only word I’ve had since I found out earlier this week that my friend Valerie Weiss died. Her Facebook page, and her sister’s, are full of tributes to this high school classmate–inventive mother, passionate environmental scientist, compassionate veterinarian–talented high school actress–and, in a final act of giving, an organ donor. The list goes on. The memory of her I’d like to share, however, is the one of her as a writer.

Valerie Weiss was my first, and probably my best, writing partner. Notice I don’t say writing “teacher,” writing “coach” or “editor.” I’ve had some amazing folks in those categories. I choose the adjective partner deliberately. The thing is, Valerie was always the smartest kid in the class. I knew that from the time I met her in the eighth grade. But what made her so special is how she used those smarts. Rarely to produce work on her own, for herself, but to collaborate. To make the singular that much better. That’s what she helped me do when we wrote the trial for Macbeth in our AP Government class. We sat (I think it was actually in her living room) with a group of students, tossing out ideas, and Valerie and I wrote them down, combined them, and wrote a script. I was the lead defense attorney; we got to perform the trial in the Staunton Circuit Court, and we got Macbeth off. I delivered the lines of the final argument, but I’m pretty sure Valerie wrote them. 

In December of that year, we sat in her kitchen and wrote our senior Christmas show. This time, it was just the two of us. Valerie took calls in-between our work to counsel friends with relationship issues. She always listened, calmly, and gave advice that was far beyond her years. I think the night we wrote the senior skit was when I realized that Valerie wasn’t just the smartest kid in our class, she was also the wisest. 

We went to different colleges but stayed in touch. A mutual friend asked if she had gone to William and Mary, and my response was, “No, that was where she went for her FIRST graduate degree, but oh, how I would have loved to have her there when I was.” I told my husband later that I honestly believe, if she had been there with me, I would have been a much better college student. Again, collaboration. When Valerie was around, she never made us feel inferior, (even though we usually were), she never made us feel self-conscious or awkward (which I often was and still am). When Valerie was around, we were our best selves. We were better.

Gutted. Let me use that adjective one more time. The rule of threes, you know. Faith, hope, and love–Nellie, Aranea, and Joy. Doctor Valerie Weiss. I am so sorry we won’t be getting that coffee on Friday. But I promise I’ll keep telling your story, as best I can, feeling that emptiness at times for the rest of my days. We all will.

Maybe some folks will click on that link for the rewrite of The Giving Tree and contribute to the Atlanta Artist Relief Fund. I think you would like that. For now, I’ll end with E.B. White

“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.”

Valerie, you were both.