Saturday, January 24, 2009

The Aphorisms of Tug

I’m sitting in the middle of a hundred acres of woods, leaning against the trunk of a large Hickory nut tree. The butt of my trusty old Steven’s 20-guage shotgun is tucked beneath my right arm, the stock lying across my lap. Off in the distance, maybe 40-yards away, I hear the sound of a gray squirrel, jumping through the crisp fall leaves. It isn’t as cold outside as the weatherman said it was going to be. The insulated underwear beneath my thick flannel shirt is becoming hot; sweat is running down my back. I push up my sleeves for some relief, trying not to make much noise so as to not scare away any game. I tilt my head backwards and peer through the thick branches. The sun is trying to peek through. I close my eyes and smile. I am completely happy and content.

As I sit in my place of solitude, my mind begins to drift off into the days of my childhood. I had a wonderful life growing up in rural East, TN. I came from a family of moderate means. We were poor by most folk’s standards but back then I never gave it a thought. My biggest concerns in life were how high I could climb a tree, how far I could jump across a creek, and how late I could stay outside and play. There was no such thing as video games, personal computers, or mp3-players. I had to rely solely on my imagination to occupy my free time. Tying a string around the foot of an unfortunate June bug and watching my sisters run in terror from it was at the top of my fun list.

I’m startled out of my dreamy slumber by the crash of a dead branch landing only feet away from me. The squirrel scampers off in a panic. I have thoughts of raising my gun and firing off a shot of lead in its direction of retreat. Before I can square around, the little varmint is out of sight. Just as well, I didn’t really want to waste a shell on it anyway. I relax again and place the gun on the ground beside me. I’m no longer in the mood to hunt.

I reach into my front pant’s pocket and fish out a small Barlow knife. My dad had just sharpened it for me on an old piece of flint rock. He is good at that sort of thing. I carefully open the blade and admire the razor sharp edge, testing it by shaving a one-inch swath of hair from my left forearm. I reach for a nearby stick and begin whittling. The knife slices through the thin bark effortlessly. At the moment, I need nothing else in the world. I feel such peace and contentment.

When did life become so complicated? It seems but only last week that I was dragging old boards through the woods and placing them across my papaw’s wet weather spring. Kevin and I had our hearts set on building a private clubhouse that spanned the width of the creek. Only members of our club would be allowed to come inside. A secret password would be needed to enter. We didn’t really plan on anyone else joining us unless of course it was one of the girls that we had a crush on. If Julie Lay (Kevin’s crush) or Lena Loveday (mine) had ever came within 10-feet of our clubhouse we would have probably both fainted and died. Ah, but these are the things a 9-year old boy thinks of.

You always hear, “you can be anything you want to be,” or “you can do anything you set your mind to,” well, I don’t believe that. I think there are limits on everyone, more on some than others. I dreamed of being a Railroad Engineer driving trains across the country. Not a Computer Engineer wasting my life away sitting behind a desk. Maybe it was lack of motivation; maybe it was life’s circumstances that limited my dreams. Or, maybe, just maybe, I quit dreaming.

I’m not sure where this post came from or why it went where it did. It’s just what I had on my mind tonight. I’m 42-years old; my life is more or less half over. There are so many things that I wanted to do. So many plans and schemes that rattled around in my head. In a way I’m happy, but in a way I feel that I’ve wasted away the prime years of my life. I do not base success on material possessions, wealth, fame, or position. None of those things matter in the long run. You sure can’t take them with you when you go. I would like to leave behind a legacy though. After I part from this world, I would hope someone could stand over my grave and say, “here lies a man that worked hard, was decent, had strong moral character, raised a good family, and was loved and respected by those that knew him.” To me, that would be success.

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