Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.There are certain things a man shouldn't do at 56 By J. G. Fabiano I found out the other day there are certain things one shouldn't do at 56 years old. OK, there are a few things that are quite obvious. I should stay away from running in the Boston Marathon, enlisting in the marines, building a new house by myself, and of course the ever popular starting a new family. I added a new chore the other day after my father called me and asked if I could remove what was left of an old 'burning bush' my younger brother detached the other day. The concept of removing a bush from the front of my father's driveway seemed to be doable. The only question was why my brother didn't remove it with the rest of the plant. When I arrived at my parent's home I found out why. A bush by definition is a shrub. A shrub by definition is a low several stemmed wooden plant. I am quoting Mr. Webster with this definition. The concept of removing a shrub did not seem like a problem. That was until I arrived at my folk's home and saw what he wanted me to remove. A giant sequoia should be lucky enough to have such a stump. It had to be at least a foot in diameter with multiple branches coming out of it that once held the rest of the plant. Standing in front of what I was asked to remove I imagined my hands around my brother's neck because he left me with the back breaking task. I asked my father if he had an axe and a wedge in his tool shed. I remember when I was young and my blood flowed into muscles instead of fat I used wood to heat my home. Every fall I would take eighteen inch sections of wood and split it so it would fit in my stove. It worked well back then so I thought I could split the stump before I attempted to remove it. He came back with an axe used to throw at a tree for sport. It was about a foot long and hadn't been sharpened for at least half a century. He told me the wedge was on the other side of the pointed edge of the axe. From that point on I knew it was going to be a long afternoon. Rummaging through the shed I pulled out a shovel that looked like it was once used to dig through a pile of coal and a crow bar that weighed more than me. I walked back to the monster and started to dig around the root. By this time many in the neighborhood walked out of their homes in an attempt to be entertained by a gray haired bearded man who thought he was still young. Some peered out from their porches with others sitting in chairs with drinks in hand knowing they would be entertained for a long period of time. I quickly discovered there were more roots around the stump than there were stems that used to be on top of the stump. I dug a hole that had a diameter of at least six feet. But, I still couldn't find where the roots ended. Getting precariously close to the foundation to my parents home I decided it was time to attempt to cut the roots away from the stump. I discovered that year long dried wood was easier to cut through than wood that was still alive. The first time I used the small axe it bounced back and nearly took my head off. It did send my hat and glasses in the air only to land in the middle of the driveway. The hat didn't break. The glasses did. The problem with getting old is you become arrogant in the thought you are not really that old. Plus my mother was watching from her porch and if there is one thing the genetics of an Italian family has is a need to protect and show off for one's mother. To fail in front of your mother was second only to gnawing off one's left foot. The next thing I did was go back to my father's shed in order to find a saw. There were many but few had any teeth left on them that had the chance of cutting through anything denser than butter. One of my father's neighbors walked toward me as I was attempting to cut through the thinnest of roots. He gave me a small saw and quickly retreated back to his porch. I assumed this was because he didn't want to get hurt or have the ice in his gin and tonic melt. I think it was a combination of both. For the next three and a half hours I labored in order to remove the stump. I succeeded in digging up most of my parent's front lawn and herniated most of the good muscles I had left in my body. But, damned if I was going to give up because my mother was still watching from her porch. I then felt the ground move. At first I thought I hit some sort of a water or gas line. I had visions of being pushed into the air by a water geyser or blowing up the neighborhood in my quest to remove the stump of a shrub. Thankfully I was wrong on both accounts. Looking up from the devastation I saw a large front end loader being driven by a young man who had been called by one of the neighbors because, as I was told later, didn't want to see me die. The young driver told me he would take it from here. I left the hole and watched as he pushed the blades of the machine under the stump and lifted it out of the ground. This took approximately three minutes. I heard applause spread through the neighborhood. I looked up at my mother who asked if I was hungry. There are certain things one shouldn't do at 56 years old. but this does not include beating up my younger brother. The End.
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