[ WP ] You are a con artist that travels back in time to a gullible era so that you can sell money tree seeds .

A man stood at a sign, his hands waved, and he moved like a squirrel on the sidewalk as he yelled. 
 
 “ Come Everyone, ” he said. “ I have a splendiferous, amazing, fast and blazing, seeds that you can grow. ” 
 
 I stopped and stared at the man for a second, my hand grasped my mothers palm, as my dress moved and my mother noticed. 
 
 “ Kara, we can ’ t stop for the man, ” she said. 
 
 “ He has seeds, ” I said. 
 
 “ No. ” 
 
 The man walked to a man and showed him the seeds in the box, as I stood and the man noticed my mother. 
 
 “ Miss, I have seeds that can produce a perfect and perpetual product. ” 
 
 My mother took a deep breath, and looked at the man, ” Yes sir. ” 
 
 “ These are splendiferous, wonderous, stupendous seeds, ” he said. 
 
 “ I can not afford them, sir. ” 
 
 “ What do the seeds grow? ” I asked, as my mother ’ s face appeared irritated and the man look at me; he grinned. 
 
 “ They grow a tree that will bring you wealth, ” he said. 
 
 “ Money? ” 
 
 “ I can not promise money young girl, but I can definitely, positively, productively promise wealth. ” 
 
 The man talked to me and my mother held her coin purse; the man glanced at her and I jumped again. 
 
 “ Can I have a box? ” my mother asked. 
 
 “ Yes, ma ’ am, ” he said, as he walked over and gave her the box, and my mother gave him a coin. 
 
 “ Thank you. ” 
 
 My mother gave me the seeds and we walked from the sidewalk and toward the store, as I held the box; the seeds moved inside. We planted the seeds in the evening and my mother and I watered them. The seeds grew into a tree as I aged; we disappeared in the branches and climbed the tree as children. My father built a table around the trunk. In the summers, my mother sat under the tree and smiled, as we ate dinner and my father laughed at the table. We made shadow puppets on the bark and I tried to make a cat, but couldn ’ t. As the tree grew, I thought about the man and his promise of wealth from the tree. It didn ’ t produce money, hadn ’ t produced oil or metals, and didn ’ t give us anything; I believed the man a con-artist, a thief who cheated me. Another summer, I walked into the garden, as the sunlight dimmed and my mother and father appeared; their hair grayed, they grew old. They laughed and we ate, as my father turned on the lantern, and I tried to make the shadow puppet of a cat, but still couldn ’ t, though my son could. I smiled and stared at the tree, while my mother refilled her tea. I pondered the claim the man made about wealth again. He claimed that we would become wealthy with the tree, and I presumed, like all people, that the tree would give us money or produce something. I did. The man was a con-artist and sold me seeds with no value, but his promise to give us wealth was true. The tree didn ’ t give us coins or money, oil or gold, but produced memories, time with my family, and joy; a wealth riches can not give.
