I was driving down Hufsmith Road a few days ago and as I drove past Mrs. Roos’ homesite, I saw two young men in the ditch chopping at some trees. They were probably seven to ten years old, the best I could tell as I drove by about 40 miles an hour. It looked like they had a combination of a real machete and sticks that they used to do their chopping.

They appeared to be on a mission. What kind of mission, I wasn’t quite sure, but it involved the chopping of trees and brush. It’s possible they had been “hired” by someone to clear the fence row, but I could tell this hiring was probably done to get them out of the house. It was also possible they were simply in a fantasy world of imagination and they were on a mission of some sort.

Any young man with any sort of a dream can go outside and spend hours upon hours using that stick as a weapon against every bad tree or bush they can find. In one day young men can travel the world and travel throughout history creating all kinds of dreams and fantasies.

You can start out as a cowboy working your way though the attacking marauders coming over the hill. You can be Clyde Barrow working your way across Texas doing bad things while at the same time you can be the good guy, Eliot Ness, taking out the bad guys with your sub machine gun. You can be an army guy attacking the nearest pill box or you may become a Viking running roughshod over the local peasants.

Each and every tree becomes the bad guy or the good guy. Each and every yaupon bush can become the giant dragon or monster of the day. The weeds, tall grass, limbs, family flowers and plants all succumb to the quest at hand. You don’t think about the money the family spent on plants. That sort of thing doesn’t even cross your mind. Besides, if Mom asks you who chopped down her favorite rose bush, you can blame it on Idunno. Idunno gets a lot of blame for a lot of stuff by young people. Even if you have a brother named Keith to blame things on, Idunno can still carry a lot of the pressure.

Ah yes, the memories that came back to my mind when I saw these two young men feverishly working along the side of the road that day.

Sticks take on different forms and shapes as the wars progress. They may start out in the beginning of the day as a pole vaulting stick to simply assist you over the rivers and streams you have to cross to find your destiny. It’s possible that same stick can help you become a hobo and carry your food because you didn’t get your way at home the night before and you are thinking about running away. Later, that stick can be turned into a weapon and held like a pistol or rifle and soon it can become a spear. It starts out as a javelin, but later it becomes a sharpened pointed spear. As you begin the attack on one of those dangerous trees that is attacking you, the spear is thrown against the tree only to break off. The idea was to see that spear stuck in the side of some dangerous monster or lion as it fled from your sight, thus evading its attack on you.

I don’t know what these young men were doing or why, but I can tell you the job was short lived. That’s why I figure they had been “hired" by a family member to simply give them something to do.

Time seems to get away from a young guy real quickly. If Momma or Daddy tell you to be in the house in two hours, you’re lucky if you make it on time. Even with a watch on your arm you can’t stop the wars long enough to go to the bathroom, much less to look at a watch. I know! I’ve been there and done that!

I just heard about a couple of young men who got into trouble just a week or two ago. Dad had allowed two brothers to ride off on their bikes for awhile. After they were gone well past the allotted time, the whole subdivision began looking for them. They were found safe and sound amongst another group of youngsters from the area.

Mom and Dad were both worried sick about their absence, but something tells me they got fussed at by Momma more than by their Dad. Something tells me Dad remembered his childhood….

Clifford

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