Mothers Who Grow Like Trees

—Reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on International Women’s Day

In the poor neighborhoods of Brooklyn, New York, there is a kind of tree that often grows in the most barren places. It can sprout from cracks in the bricks and root itself among dust and rubble. No matter how harsh the environment, it always finds a little sunlight and rain, slowly growing upwards.

In her novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, American author Betty Smith writes about precisely such a tree.

This tree is more than just a plant—it is a symbol. It represents those who live under difficult circumstances, especially women who quietly support their families. Even when life is harsh, they grow with resilience.

The novel depicts immigrant life in Brooklyn from the late 19th to the early 20th century. It was an era of opportunities, yet also of hardship. Many European immigrants came to America with hope, only to start anew on a land that was unfamiliar.

poverty, criminal, alcoholism, death, are challenges for the Brooklyn immigrant families.

The protagonists in the novel are one such ordinary immigrant family.

The father once had a respectable life, but after arriving in America, he could only work as a singer on weekend call on in a bar. The gap between his dreams and reality gradually led him to drink.

Yet the real support for the family came from the mother.

She cleaned other people’s apartments, earning a modest income to support her family. On their hardest days, they might survive on a cup of weak coffee and a single slice of bread. Even so, she insisted that her children study. she makes her own coffee with spices and children felt they were rich by drinking so delicious coffee every day.

Every evening, she required them to read a page of Shakespeare and a page of the Bible. In her view, education might not change life immediately, but it could shape the future.

It was this quiet yet steadfast faith that allowed the children to retain hope even amid poverty.

The daughter grew to love reading and discovered a wider world in books. The son loved sports and dreamed of becoming a baseball player. Poverty did not steal their dreams, because their mother always protected their hope.

In that impoverished neighborhood, people also shared a simple warmth. Neighbors helped each other, sharing food and medicine. The harsher life became, the more people understood the value of mutual support.

Once, when a criminal killed a child in the neighborhood, the mother bravely shot to subdue him and received a monetary reward. Yet she distributed most of the money to poorer neighbors.

Even in poverty, she remained kind.

Later, the father died from alcoholism, and the mother was dismissed from her job while pregnant. The weight of life fell almost entirely on her shoulders.Yet she still helpd her children.

When the children earned their first paycheck—ten dollars—they carefully exchanged it for new bills and handed it to their mother. It was a silent gesture of gratitude after they had to drop off high school to support the family.

In the novel, the mother is not a grand hero; she is an ordinary woman. But it is precisely such ordinary women who sustain a family and shape the next generation.

She also told her daughter: when choosing a partner, do not only look at appearance or listen to sweet words; character matters most.

The daughter experienced her first heartbreak in youth. Yet her mother reminded her that one must not rely solely on others, and that believing in one’s own strength is essential.

The daughter eventually studied at night for high school diploma, and was admitted to college. Her lifelong dream was to become a writer. Through learning, she surpassed her moderate background and became a person she wanted to be. Do the things she wanted to do: Write a book and plant a tree

Her mother, in her quiet way, changed her child’s life. She finially married a policemand and had a better life.

Reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on International Women’s Day reminds us of the profound strength found in ordinary acts.

Throughout history, many women have left no famous names behind. They may not shine with glory, yet they bear responsibility, make sacrifices, and persevere in everyday life.

They grow like that tree in Brooklyn—rooted even in barren soil.

It reminds me of the Song dynasty scholar Su Shi. He suffered repeated exile yet never succumbed to despair. In Huangzhou, he wrote the timeless Red Cliff Ode and the poem Calm Amid the Winds, and even created the now-famous Dongpo Pork in ordinary daily life.

Exile did not make him despondent; instead, it grounded him in nature and life. Ordinary daily acts became poetry and a free, generous spirit.

In a similar way, the people who persevere in poverty in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn may not write poems, yet they quietly protect their families and hope, day by day.

Like the tree sprouting from the cracks, they root themselves in harsh soil but always grow toward the light.

Brooklyn has a tree.

And in the world, there are countless mothers like it.

They root themselves in the storms of life, grow steadily in the dust of years.
Unassuming, yet resilient; quiet, yet enduring.

It is they who keep the world alive with the power to grow upward.