Boys Are Like Lilies Of The Field – Wild And Smelly.

Some would say being born a boy is the ultimate challenge of life. Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of. What a tag to be carrying, puppy dog tails? It’s enough to scar a boy for life. I dare say it’s all a bunch of malarkey. That, my friend is a conspiracy born of the opposite gender to tame the boys. Some might say the fellows are disturbed but I say the youth in the fellow is not disturbed they're only a little disturbing. Before a boy becomes a man it is in his nature to be a little mischievous at times. And why not? How can a fellow trip toward manhood without being a boy? And what is so important about being a boy in the first place?

Boys are like Lilies of the Field, wild and smelly. Boyhood, although challenging as it might be, does not disrupt the whole of society. Mindful of the events of boyhood, I found it to be a time of exploring possibilities and challenging the status quo. You know status quo, the existing state of affairs, well sometimes things just beg for change. The key word here is “existing” and boys, by nature can’t tolerate anything existing. If it is in place it is fair game for challenge. And who’s better equipped to enunciate change, why of course, the boys. The boys can figure a way around, any situation, even if they have to get that puppy dog look and look at mom straight in the eye. Mom softens at the first look and caves in when it is prolonged. Ha, lesson learned, females can be softened. Even though mom thought she hid that tiny thread of information, the alertness of the boys recorded it for later use.

We became quite adapted to propelling ourselves down every ally in town. Everyone knew us and we couldn’t get away with anything. Well, except a few things on the sly. We road those bikes everywhere, fishing, hunting, exploring and to the furthest boy’s house in the country; about five miles. Ah, the freedom of a bike; peddle your dang legs off and sweat; man I don’t know how we did it. No wonder I stayed so skinny, they called me flaco, (Means skinny in Spanish) and I was. They would mistake my ribs for muscle, and I had them going, showing off them ribby muscles.

We graduated from bicycles to Jeeps, and our adventurous spirit moved from the alleys of our little town to the grand expanse of the desert. Well after all, us boys had a lot of searching to do, I mean living on the desert; it was uncharted territory. To make things more exciting, part of the desert was a world war two bombing range. Wow, what great things could a boy find there? It never dawned on us there was any danger in it, and besides, we thrived on danger. Right? Heck yeah. A bomb or two a unburned flare, what the heck, they were waiting for us. How could any boy resist such a temptation just laying there for them to take? Well we took our share, yep, hauled out everything we could get our hands on. It’s a wonder we didn’t get ourselves blown up. Once we found a big old flare, one of those kind that they drop from an airplane on a parachute. Nice – we hauled it back to town and decided we needed to set it off. Haw, a brilliant deduction. We were just outside town, about nine o’clock at night. It was in the edge of a field, cotton wood trees a canal and a irrigation ditch and us boys. We set the flare up; there were three, what looked like fuses on top. Ed said he would light it and the rest of us got into the irrigation ditch for cover. (just in case) Ed lit it and dove into the ditch, wala light. Man it was like noon, everything lit up. About five minutes passed; we were in a state of wonder, how cool is that? Oh, oh, here comes the law. Well the police, fire department and a ton of residences came charging up to us. “What the blankety blank are you boys up to now?” shouted the chief of police. We didn’t see that we were up to anything, just performing a public service by disposing of this flare. Well they couldn’t put it out so everyone just sat around and watched it burn. We got a royal reaming over that one. But it was well worth it. Ha, Ha. Made em jump.

Then there were the trips to the swimming hole. Swimming Hole, we had irrigation canals. Miles and miles of running water. Oh man, fishing, swimming, and water skiing. And how does one ski on a canal? Leave it to us guys. Hook a rope on the bumper of a pickup and wala, ski boat. “Show time!” You could really get to going, well that is until you came to a check. A check is an adjustable dam across the canal. The trick was to let go soon enough to stop. That wasn’t too bad, it was the bushes along the canal bank that caused injury. Dang rope would catch a bush and fling you into the bank. Dang, that hurt.

By now, the lust of the loin was driving us fellows into a state of confusion. We heard rumors about those – girls. I mean it’s not like they hadn’t always been around. Something happened; one day out of the blue girls became an issue; another conquest, challenge, adventure. Our heads were turned, and you know what happens when the mule turns his head, disaster strikes. “Keep them blinders on boy, there’s danger lurking.” Well, we were blindsided. We hung up the shingle and let the world know our wandering days were over. Excuses became the norm. I can’t go to the desert today, got to take my girl shopping. “Shopping!” Oh the humility of it all. We were so overpowered by the possibility of a sneak peek, or little touch, we were led around like a little puppy. Cripe; no more desert trips, eating rabbit or farting.

The spark may be dimming, but it never goes out. It lies hidden, waiting to be expressed, whispering to your soul for freedom. You’ve heard it, haven’t you; the whispering of freedom? When a man is so choked on his own indecisions he can no longer breath. He pants the dieing song and slides into the shadows. Well – boys grow into men and men grow old and feeble, and guess what? With a little grin they can be defiant and fart again.

Happy Trails