Brad Curry
Contributing Writer
Benjamin Franklin Plumbing
As a young boy in junior high, my friends and I walked to and from school every day. Yes we walked in the rain, the 100 degree Arkansas heat, the sleet (we didn’t get snow)…. we walked. Sometime around the 6th or 7th grade, we happened upon “Fuzzy”, a big kid high schooler that would meet his girlfriend in the wooded area behind our school (and on our way home) for an after school make out session. Instead of allowing them their privacy, we would shout “fuzzy wuzzy” until we destroyed their mood and he chased us off. The “fuzzy wuzzy” was in reference to his “afro” hairstyle; there was an old rhyme “Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear, fuzzy wuzzy had no hair”. In hindsight, it could have been a perm (this was the 70’s, after all); and now that I think about it, the “had no hair” part didn’t make sense either but hey, we were 13 and it was funny at the time!
Anyway, day after day we interrupted his “make out” session never thinking there might be consequences; we would yell, he would chase, we ran away laughing. That all changed one day as we prepared for our daily ritual chant, only to realize Fuzzy wasn’t there. He had waited behind a different building until we went by, and then he ambushed us! With the deftness of a ninja warrior, he appeared as if from thin air. Suddenly it wasn’t quite so funny and all we could do was run, except this time, we didn’t have our customary head start. We scattered like roaches on a dirty kitchen counter startled by a light, each boy running in a different direction. This was no time for bravery; he was a high schooler, we were 7th graders; it was every kid for himself!
As luck would have it, Fuzzy chose me as his victim and the chase was on. Like a rabbit running from a beagle, off I went. As fast as my fear driven legs moved, it wasn’t enough; he was gaining, and fast! Just before he grabbed me, for what surely would have been a beating worthy of weeks of “intrusion”, I was introduced to the clothes line in a back yard we always cut through. For those of you too young to remember, clothes were hung out to dry after washing on a taught wire. This wire was usually 20’-30’ long, suspended between 2 steel poles. The steel cable was usually stretched about 5’ above the ground, making it easy for the woman of the house (yes, the woman- it was a different time then) to hang the wet clothes on to dry. The laundry (particularly sheets) smelled soooo good, but that’s different story for another day. Coincidentally that 5’ dimension is just about the height of the average 7th graders chest & neck area. Running full speed into a taught steel cable will produce but one result- an instantaneous and violent stop, with the head being the 1st body part to reestablish contact with the ground! Fill in the blanks; this is where the term “clothes lined” comes from. I guess Fuzzy felt sorry for me and let me go without additional pummeling that day. But guess what; he was there waiting on us the next day, so a similar “cockroach” reaction took place, and we all cheated fate yet again. After a few days of these chase & scatter games, we started to take a “safer” (but longer) route home.
Several days went by before I decided I had had enough; I wasn’t going out of my way anymore. Perhaps the memory of the previous clothesline encounter had faded, maybe I was hungry, and maybe a good episode of Daniel Boone was coming on TV… who knows the workings of a 13 year old boys mind. Regardless I was going to “move the log”, not go around it. When I veered from our “safe” route for the old way home, my friends tried to talk me out of it. “He’ll pulverize you” they said. And maybe they were right (as it turns out, they were). But I wasn’t walking “around the log” for even 1 more day! As I approached the point of no return Fuzzy asked me what I was doing; when I replied “walking home” there was some banter about what I had coming, what he was going to do to me, etc.…… until I took a swing at him- and connected. Unfortunately, my 7th grader roundhouse right did not affect his 12th grader jaw as I had envisioned. As you might imagine, Fuzzy pounded me. However, from that day on he never bothered us again. I had successfully “moved the log” that had blocked not only my path, but the path of my friends.
What “logs” are blocking your path? Is it a fear of client rejection that prevents you from offering options on multiple repairs? Do you dread training so much that you’re willing to settle for less, instead of improving? Maybe you have a phobia about dark, damp crawl areas so you don’t routinely search for the treasure left behind by those who came before you. Maybe it’s a personal, marital, religious or political “log” that is detouring your path to success. Are you worried your kids will resent your parenting style? Do you secretly fear the PTA meeting because your spouse is obnoxious? Maybe your desire to come out of the closet as a navel lint collector causes you sleepless nights! The point is everyone’s log(s) will be different.
Will moving your one big “log” guarantee success, notoriety, fortune and happiness? Of course not! But it will put you on a more direct path to them; and who knows, the next time you find yourself in a logjam you may discover moving the log is easier than avoiding it!
By the way, I ran into Fuzzy many years later and he actually remembered me. Fortunately for me, the physical size advantage he once enjoyed was gone. His 1st question was “what the hell were you thinking? You knew I was going to clobber you.” After we talked a bit, he acknowledged that he always respected what I had done, even if it didn’t seem to be the brightest decision in the world at the time.
How many logs have you climbed over, detoured around, worried about, or avoided all together instead of simply moving? Just like my “Fuzzy” log, the removal may be painful initially, but once absent the path is clearer for you and all that follow.