Feeling Dumb

The tan Escort had been getting louder and louder each time I drove it. It sounded like it have some kind of hole in the exhaust, it was so loud. Additionally, it seemed to have difficulty regulating heat. It was quickly deteriorating, but I was sixteen and couldn't be bothered.

So, I walked to the front of the house where my car, "The Grassy Gnoll" to my friends, hopped into the hot, front seat and turned the key. The engine made the click of the starter, a loud clunk and then nothing. I tried again, nothing. I popped the hood and immediately saw the problem, a hole in the side of the block with a piece of metal, a rod, sticking out of it. As bad as it was that my car was ruined, that I couldn't go pick up my friends, worse was the fact that I knew why this had happened. Every time my dad heard my car, or the mood struck him, would ask me if I got the oil changed. I hadn't. I had never gotten the oil changed and I figured if I just added a little fresh oil into the reservoir I could put it off. Now I had a hole in my engine because I was wrong, just as wrong as my dad inferred with every question. Dumb.

Between the building with the rooms and the conference center there was a long hallway. Matt, James, Steve and I walked this hallway multiple times during the D and D experience, always in conversation which ranged from gaming to guns to the political. Even though these were my friends, it still felt like I had something to prove. They probably had no expectations of me, but it didn't keep me from putting expectations on myself. Speak intelligently, make points worthy of note, jab and dodge the verbal jabs sent to me. The conversation of men, smart men,

I don't remember why, but the conversations rolls around to presidents. From there, which was the best president and making a case for them. I believe Matt took the position for John Adams and I took the position for Thomas Jefferson. I admit that he might have been a better man, than president, so we talk about over all accomplishment. Then I say, letting my tongue get ahead of my head, once of his great accomplishments was writing the Constitution. In another group, this might have been overlooked or even not caught. But this historical misstatement, substituting Declaration of Independence for US Constitution, was a beacon of wrongness. A colossal mistake. Not only did it deflate my point, but it left me open to verbal jabs I could not dodge. I could turn into them, but even then I knew that these two significantly different documents had been muddled in my mind. Dumb.

The sun was going down and so I had built the fire up. The smell of smoke and the growing blaze called the other campers over. Camp chairs were dragged around and every time people moved closer, I added wood. I wanted it to be hot enough to make a large circle. The breeze and the stars, the sound of the fountain in the pond and kids laughing near the edge of the corn field, it was beautiful. People moved up and smiled, told stories of the past and shared plans for the future. As time wore on the crowd changed and I began to be lightly harassed about all the wood I had burned, but that I didn't split any of it. I did what I do and made a smart comment and kept feeding the flames. This was my 14th or 15th Labor Day in a row at the farm and I have not only never split wood, but I have never been asked. Now these jokers were making a deal out of it. I went to bed not giving it much thought.

The next day started as usual. A single breakfast sandwich, a relaxing morning, then off to the Ruth dinner for lunch. It went well. When we got back, one of guys called from the area they were all hanging out in, ready to split some logs. It was like a cat call or a challenge. I said simply, but loudly, why. Why are you being a jerk? Why is it so important to you? Why this year but never before? I didn't ask those things, I just let the single word stand on its own. I went to the beach and played lifeguard for the kids. What I mulled over though, was this fact. For what ever reason, this was important to them, even though they were not making any effort to split wood themselves. Even though I would not have to do anything if I didn't want to, if the work was important, I should contribute. Also, if it was just a hollow challenge, about work they themselves didn't plan on doing, they could be silenced by me stepping up. Lastly, if I am to live like Christ, I need to learn to be a servant to all people. Besides, how hard could it be?

So, once Shelly came over to the beach, I had her take over with the kids, I walked into the circle of guys and said, "Let's go." I told them I had never split wood before, but I was willing to learn. Steve was probably the most experienced and showed me how. The idea is not complex. You set the log up, hit where you won't catch a knot, the now smaller pieces of wood travel to the right and the left. The ax felt awkward in my hands. It was hard to get my top hand to slide down the handle, to put the needed force of the head. There were time I completely missed the wood, or the just knocked the top. I tried to just learn and pretend everyone now standing around was understanding that I had never done this before. I couldn't do it though. Every miss, poor swing, difficulty the others didn't have, made me feel dumb. Dumb in a way I didn't have an excuse for. How hard should it be, I kept telling myself, to hit the end of a big log? When the blade came down, bounced off the right side of the log and buried in the ground about six inches from my foot, Steve asked if I wanted him to take over. I did. He split logs like a machine. I moved back to break brush down for the night's fire.