We Rejoin Our Hero…
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2- Still Running
The second time I ran away, I was 16 years old. You might say, “old enough to know better”—but I would tell you, I was too old to be humble and too young to be wise. The conflict was very much the same. I had spent the intervening years learning about the farm from my Dad and no doubt enjoying what I was learning. But in my eyes I was still a child, and my Dad was still my model for god. He could do anything and everything, and I was simply there to learn from him. My presence was not a necessity and his desire to teach me was more forbearance than anything else. If he wanted to, he could still do everything, but he wanted me to learn, so I learned. This was my thinking.
This illusion of mine came face to face with reality when my Dad hurt his back while repairing the baler. I heard a grunt and a thud as my Dad fell in the mud. I rushed over to him on instinct, and was terribly frightened to see that he couldn’t right himself. I thought he was paralyzed, wounded, something was broken, or he was on deaths door.
“Dad, what’s wrong? What do you need?” I asked.
“Shut up and do what I say,” he said—he rarely lost his temper and rarely spoke disrespectfully even to his children, he was a perfect gentleman through and through, so I felt shame that I was so often able to raise his temper. “Get the rake and the shovel.” He said.
I ran off into the tool shed and retrieved the tools. “Here.” I said.
He grimaced and said, “Put the shovel down and prop the rake up here. Here! Here, son!” He gestured impatiently. I planted the rake in the mud by his shoulder, as he requested. “Hold it steady.” I nodded, and held the rake with all my strength.
He grabbed on to the rake with one hand and pushed himself onto his side. He grimaced and grunted and pulled his leg forward, and pushing up on the rake, got onto one knee. Then he was able to grab onto the rake with both hands and stand up—he was hunched over.
Balancing himself on the rake, he said, “Get the shovel.” And I handed it to him—he had the rake in one hand and the shovel in the other, and was propping himself up on what looked like farmers skis. He grimaced and took one halting step forward. “Go tell your mother I’ve hurt my back and I’m coming inside.” I took off at a run towards the house, while my Dad continued hobbling in.
I leapt up the front steps two at a time, and barged into the house. “Ma!” I shouted. “Ma! Dad’s hurt his back, he’s coming in.”
Mom was almost never perturbed, and wasn’t now. She instantly began barking orders. “Darius—get some ice. Mariam, clear the sofa in the living room for your father. Tylus what are you still doing here? Go out and help your Dad inside!”
I rushed back out—my Dad had made it a few paces. “Ma’s getting ready for you, I’m to help you inside. Should I get the wagon?”
“Curse the wagon, I can do it, Tylus. Here, take this rake and come help.” He handed me the rake and I positioned myself under his arm and he rested some of his weight on me. The whole event was surreal to me. My Dad, the fearless, the powerful—suddenly looked very weak and fragile. I was shaken more than I realized—when your Father becomes a mere Man, it is a powerful and memorable time in a young mans life. Its effects were felt everywhere.
In the hubbub, I was consumed with worry and was not thinking about the consequences to the work of the house. My Mom said he would be fine—“Don’t worry, he’s just thrown out his back. He’s not in danger.”—but Mom never saw him groaning face-down in the mud. I stayed with him, got him water, helped him to reach for things. I felt guilty, for some reason. Mom didn’t mind that I was helping him, as she could take care of other things.
We ate dinner in the living room together so we could be with Dad. He led us in grace and we ate more quietly than usual. Eventually Dad said—“Tylus, you’ve got to finish repairing the Baler tomorrow.”
I was taken aback—I had just helped him hobble in from hurting himself, surely I didn’t deserve such a punishment.
“It’s not a punishment, son, it’s an unfinished task. I needed to finish it today but we can still finish it tomorrow. We’ve got to get that baler out there by the afternoon tomorrow. Darius, you can finish Tylus’ work in the shed. Momma, what do you think, is Lucas old enough to help? We need to be all hands on deck until I am better.” Lucas was my youngest brother—he was only eight years old at the time.
“He can help Tylus or Darius,” she said.
“Hopefully I will be better tomorrow, just tweaked my back but it should pop back into place—” he tried to raise himself up but groaned painfully and returned to his reclined position.
Darius was law abiding, but not me—“Dad, I was planning on—”
“Don’t talk back, Tylus. Whatever plans you had, have to change. I need you now. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I grumbled—but I did not understand. I didn’t understand a lot about this.
Mom tactfully changed the subject to something else and we had a pleasant dinner and all went to bed fine, but I was still upset and couldn’t explain why—and that made me more upset. Mom knew this, and knocked on my door as I was about to go to sleep.
“Tylus,” she said, “I know we are asking a lot from you. Your Dad and I need your help. One day, we will need your help like this all the time—but now we just need it for this week. This is a big responsibility, and we wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t think you were ready for it. Do you understand?”
I frowned and stared at the ceiling. “Ty…” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Ma.”
“Do you understand your Dad can’t work right now, right?”
“I know…”
“And you and your brothers have to pick up what he was working on, since he can’t work.”
“I know…”
“Ty, what is eating at you?”
“It’s just…” I paused for a long time. “I don’t know, ma.” My emotions were all stirred up inside, and I didn’t know how to process them. I was happy that they trusted me to step into Dad’s work and keep the farm running. I was happy that they could rely on me. But I wasn’t happy that I was being sucked deeper and deeper into the life of a farmer. I wasn’t happy that the adventures in space I wanted to have were farther and farther away.
“Don’t think about it tonight.” Mom said, “just get some rest. Tomorrow we can talk more.” we said goodnight, and I tried to sleep.
It was a fitful night. Bad dreams, poor sleep. In the middle of the night, during a fit of insomnia, I got up and I packed a backpack. When I saw the horizon start to brighten with the promise of dawn, I crept out of the house—I had learned that lesson at least. My first stop was Old Man Mackerel, our closest neighbor. It was a thirty minute walk, but it was late spring and the temperature wasn’t quite below freezing. I don’t know why exactly I felt drawn to Mr. Mackerel but I felt his house should be the first leg of my adventure.
I arrived at his house to find him sipping coffee on a rocking chair, watching the sunrise, reading the latest news on a tablet. He waved at me as I made the long trek down his driveway and went inside. When he came out he had a small cup of coffee for me and a biscuit and some eggs. “Breakfast, young Mr. Worran?” He said, as I arrived.
“Thanks, Mr. Mackerel.” I said—I didn’t realize how hungry I would be. I hadn’t packed food.
“Ohhh, don’t mention it. What gives me the honor of playing host to you this morn?”
“I’m on my way to the City.” I said.
“That so? That so indeed?” he said, stroking his chin. “Where you headed to?”
“The stars, Mr. Mackerel.” I replied, “I’m finally gonna see ‘em.”
“What do your parents think about this plan of yours?”
“I haven’t told them.” I said.
“I see. And what do you think they would say, hmm?”
“They wouldn’t like it.”
“And why do you think that is, pray tell?”
“There’s work to do on the farm.”
“Ohhh, true enough, true enough.”
“…but Mr. Mackerel, there is always work to do on the farm! When will I get to see the stars if I don’t leave now? If I stay I will always be a farmer. If I go at least I can say I have seen inner-space. Doesn’t mean I will stay for a long time.”
“Ohhh, no doubt, no doubt.”
“Dad is always working and Ma is always working and they expect me to always be working but all I want, more than anything in the world, is to see the stars. Is that ok, Mr. Mackerel? Am I allowed to want to do something else with my life?”
“I would give your parents a little more credit, Mr. Worran.” He replied. “They want what is best for you, and they want you to be a strong, industrious, self confident young man. You’ve got the strength and self confidence already—but you have to learn the work to love it. If you took to learning the ins and outs of the farm as much as you took to those books I lend you about inner-space, why, you’d be able to start your own little farming empire, eh? I’d say your parents have done you a great deal of favors by teaching you to read and letting me feed your curiosity. I daresay they’d be upset if they thought I was putting it in your head that you should run off to see the stars.”
“They don’t understand—they are already tied to the farm. I still have a chance!”
“They understand more than you’d like to admit, I’m afraid, Mr. Worran.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask them what they wanted to be when they grew up, some time. And then ask them what they became.”
We paused and sipped our coffee as I mulled over that thought. I stared down the driveway at the rising sun. I could see something out there. As it got closer, it took clearer shape: my Dad’s tractor!
My heart leapt into my throat. “Mr. Mackerel…”
“I see it. You’re a strong lad, a strong headed one. Apologize to your pappy. You’ll see the stars, son, but this is not the way.”
The tractor came to rest when it was at shouting distance, and it hovered over the driveway. My Dad was on it, accompanied by Darius. He stepped carefully down, and picked up his crutches.
“Tylus Markus Worran you come here right now!” he shouted.
Mr. Mackerel whispered to me, “Better go, son.”
I hung my head, slung my bag over my shoulders, and trudged out to meet my Dad.
“Don’t make me come all the way over there on crutches, boy.” He shouted. “You’ll have to answer to your mother more than me when we get home. She was worried sick. If Mr. Mackerel hadn’t called—”
I turned back—betrayed! Mr. Mackerel smiled and waved.
“Nevermind. Get on that tractor and we are going to talk on the way home, you hear me? Don’t you ever—EVER leave our house like that again. Disrespectful, disobedient—”
I trudged over to the tractor, where Darius was sitting. I looked at my brother, “Is it bad?”
“It’s bad.” He nodded.
I slumped into the back seat while my Dad talked to Mr. Mackerel. Eventually he began making his way back to the tractor.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, Tylus.”
Thank you
Thank you for reading. Please share your thoughts—would you like to hear more? Does this story interest you? What works, what does not? Where have I made grammatical errors? No questions, comments, or critiques are off the table—I have come here for your feedback and you have paid for the privilege, so give it freely.
Thank you, and God Bless!
Ad Jesum Per Mariam