Well, I’ve put off posting for a couple of weeks now, just
pondering things at the Coop, and decided that it is once again time to share
some insight into the inner working of this delicate film of gray matter I call
my mind. When I first started posting I thought I would never have a problem
coming up with a topic, or some form of wordy prose to share with the masses
who were clambering at their computers to read the next burst of cyber-wisdom,
but I have recently realized that while I could put lots of words into
cyberspace, they would be just that…words. No feelings, no contemplative
explanations, nothing that I wanted to use in this elegant slice of thoughtful enlightenment.
While thinking about this issue, I realized that pretty
words and thought provoking twists of logic aren’t always the best form of
reading entertainment (not that you’d actually ever get either of those here;
but I thought I’d toss that out there) and decided to write today about the
words of our fathers. No, not the words our fathers used when they accidentally
broke their small toe changing pants at work, nor the words mine used upon
realizing his youngest son was in the basement experimenting with the flash
point of 10W-30 motor oil (about 420F-485F, if you must know), but the words of
wisdom that we all thought were insane until we grew up and started using these
exact same phrases with our own kids.
“Never own anything you aren't willing to drill a hole in”.
I never really understood what my Dad meant by this until recently.
A couple of years ago my beautiful Bride and I were in a position to buy a new
bedroom suit and went to our local purveyor of fine rustic furniture. Three of them actually, before we found
exactly what we wanted at the price we wanted to pay. After having spent
several hours and gallons of gas, we decided on a nice dresser with a mirror,
two matching nightstands, and an amazing bedframe/headboard combination that
had more storage in the built-in drawers underneath than a politician has
excuses. We loaded all this up into my ole Dodge truck and make the trip
home. Being the smart fella I’d love to
believe that I am, I suggested we stage all of the new items in the living room
until the old bedroom furniture was removed to the garage. Once that was
complete, I carefully removed the plastic coverings from the beautifully
stained pine wood bed frame, taking care not to mar the finish with my pocket
knife. I mean for Pete’s sake, we just spent $600 on a bedframe; I might have
actually shed tears had I scratched it!
Once the plastic was
removed (with surgical precision, I might add), my lovely bride and I pushed it
down the hallway to the bedroom, already picturing how this one piece of
furniture would transform our little 11x13 bedroom into a suite that would make
a king fit to be tied. As we arrived at the bedroom door, a sudden dread filled
my heart, based on the realization that simple physics had defeated me. The
bedframe was too large to turn in the hallway, making it impossible to get it
into the room. Now I am normally a calm man, seldom prone to panic, but this
time was different. My mind began to race as I tried to decide whether or not I
should take out the doorway of the bedroom, or remove the window and put the
bed in from the outside. Apparently I was listing these options out loud because
the Love of my life began getting a rather odd look on her face. I realize now
that look was that of a person trying to remember the number to the local
asylum.
I decided that since I had never installed double pane
insulated windows, I should widen the bedroom doorway (been there, done that),
and started toward the garage for my trusty circle saw. My bride stopped me and
calmly suggested that we cut the bed instead. It was my turn to wonder about
the current rules for commitment to a ward, until I realized she might be
right. It might actually be better to cut the bed (which we own) than to alter
the design of our residence (which we don’t own). A half hour and two pounds of sawdust later,
the bed was cut apart and reassembled in our room. It might not be fit for a
king, but my Queen sleeps just perfectly on it. (Oh, and the doorway is still
intact).
Now that I have kids of my own, I catch myself using these
very same phrases, such as when one of the kiddos transgresses in such a
fashion that it only requires a light-hearted scolding such as “I’m gonna stomp
a mud-hole in yer butt, then stomp it dry”. I knew, upon hearing this, that I had
committed an act of utter stupidity and had been caught at it, yet at the same
time knew I wasn’t in any real danger of said mud-hole creation. Another
classic that my kids hear is “Your mouth is gonna write a check your butt can’t
cash”. This is usually when we are play-fighting and my 14 year old decides to
challenge the old man to a “wrasslin” match.
My dad and I play fought often, and it was always in fun; not only
because we enjoyed it, but also because I knew in my heart of heart that if I
ever challenged my dad to a real fight, he would accept and that scared me. My
dad wasn’t a big man, but he was strong as a Missouri mule and didn’t back down
from anyone. Besides that, he kindly reminded me that my body occasionally grew
weary and I would eventually have to fall asleep. He never finished that thought (and he didn’t have to). My young
imagination filled with nightmares of the tortures I would endure when sleep
overcame me and that fear kept me from many stupid decisions. Not that Dad would
have done anything to me in my sleep; I really don’t believe he would. But it
is the fear of the unknown that keeps wise men honest.
So in closing, I leave you with this nugget of rural gold; I
reckon good sense is scarcer than hen’s teeth, so don’t waste what you have.
Until next time,
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