The Climber

When I was a kid, someone left a pair of power pole climbers in our garage- metal spikes that fit around your boot and dig into the wooden pole as you step. Ever the adventurous type, of course, I had to try them out. I strapped them on as best I could - my feet were not nearly big enough for them to fit properly - and set out for the pole at the back of our house. Not having a belt, and not knowing a belt was supposed to be used, I struggled to get the hang of climbing the pole. Eventually, I managed to get about halfway up the thirty-five foot pole before my arms gave out and I quickly descended.

I practiced quite a lot, and in a few days I got to where I could make it to the bottom of the cross arm. I didn’t want anything to do with the high voltage power lines and didn’t try to go any further. I still had no clue I was supposed to be using more equipment, and I thought the guys who did this climbing thing for a living must be really strong. I decided I needed more practice.

Since I wasn’t actually doing anything, climbing the pole every day was rather pointless, but it was fun - that is until the guy from the power company saw me. He nearly wrecked his truck in an effort to get me to come down. Then, he threatened to take away my climbers and said he’d call the police the next time he caught me. Apparently, he thought I was either going to fall or get electrocuted. After that, I only climbed on the weekends or later in the day when the power company guys were not working. But, as is usually the case with kids’ short attention spans, I soon forgot about climbing power poles.

And then, years later, my son decided he’d like to climb power poles. Except he approached the idea with a little more thought and planning - he went to school to learn how. For the past several months, he’s attended Northwest Lineman College.

This past week, we attended his graduation. But before the ceremony, the soon to be graduates put on a show for all of us, a lineman rodeo. And at last, I got to see the right way to climb a pole. They made it look easy! And, having the proper equipment, it probably is a lot easier than the way I tried it. I’ll probably never know. Although my son would probably give me pointers and show me how, and maybe even lend me his climbers, I think I’m too old and out of shape to even attempt such a thing.

So instead, I just bought a tee-shirt. Hey, it says I’m a climber, and no one will ever know I’m really not - aside from those who read this blog. Unfortunately, that number could be a lot since I just posted it on the Internet.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter, has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Pick Up The Tools

“Put the tools away when you’re done using them,” – one of my dad’s favorite sayings when I was younger. Apparently, my brother and I had a little difficulty with that concept. We’d use his tools to fix our bikes, to work on toys, or to build things, and then we’d forget to finish the job, leaving screwdrivers, sockets, wrenches, hammers (and anything else we dug out of his toolbox) laying wherever we’d been working – usually in the yard. He’d find them the next day, or the next week, or later. Sometimes, they were still usable!

Bigger tools like rakes, shovels, and picks were not immune from our absent-minded approach to tool placement. We’d drop them, and then leave them, moving on to other things.

One day, we decided to use my dad’s tools to dig a tunnel under the street, from one side to the other. The street went up a fairly steep hill and the place we set up our operation, the top of the road measured about fifteen or twenty feet off the ground level. We worked more than a single day on our project, weeks in fact. Eventually, we had a sizeable tunnel, big enough for both of us to fit inside and work, standing up. Digging the dirt loose with a pick and then loading it with shovels into a wheelbarrow, we hauled it out.

To help keep our work hidden, the entrance to our tunnel was obscured by some bushes and a large pile of dirt from the excavation of a building site for a new church. The pile of dirt outside grew daily, but apparently, no one seems to notice the exact size of a pile of dirt.

We managed to dig the tunnel, maybe a quarter of the way across the street – and then we moved, leaving everything as it was under the street. Everything included my dad’s pick and maybe a shovel or two. A driveway for the new church building is now where the opening of our tunnel was, and after more than thirty years, I think it’s safe to assume the street is not going to collapse – at least I hope not. On the other hand, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I might find my dad’s pick! Or, not.

After this incident, (and several others) you’d think I would have learned to put tools away when I was finished with them. But no, I still haven’t. I don’t generally leave them in the yard though.

This past weekend, I stopped at my parents’ house. My dad is building a retaining wall behind his house and while I was there, I went around to take a look at his progress. The wall is coming along nicely, but that’s not what captured my attention. There, with a couple of shovels, was a pick. I guess at some point in the last thirty-some years, he replaced it. Although, he might not have it long. Now, I know he wasn’t actually done using it when I was there, however, when I saw it, the pick was laying in the yard!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Kids Do Dumb Stuff

Kids do dumb stuff sometimes. Not an earth-shattering statement, I realize. Doing dumb things is part of growing up. And the great part is that everyone alive is either a kid or once was a kid – so everybody can relate – whether they want to admit it or not. Some don’t, but I will.

I can’t remember if I was six or seven at the time, but the rest I recall quite well. A friend and I were walking from my house to his – just across the street. As we crossed the road, we noticed a car approaching in the distance. For some reason, we both suddenly stopped walking and faced the oncoming car with arms stretched out like we were daring the driver to hit us.

At the same instant, we both realized that the white car coming toward us was a state patrol vehicle. “Cop!” we yelled, and made a mad dash for the bushes surrounding his house. Then, staying out of sight, we retreated behind the shed. Our efforts to escape were futile, however. A few seconds later, the officer pulled into the driveway and went to ring the bell. My friend’s Mom listened as the cop explained why he was there and then she came looking for us.

For the next several minutes, we were treated to a lecture about how dangerous our behavior was. I remember thinking, Does he really think we’re dumb enough to stand there and wait until the car runs us over? Apparently, he did, because when I asked him, he repeated how dangerous it was and said that we could’ve been killed. Eventually, the cop left. My friend’s Mom didn’t really say a whole lot – just shook her head. I guess she figured we’d learned our lesson.

But, remember what I said about kids doing dumb stuff?

It continued to bother me that the cop actually thought I’d simply stand there in the street with a car coming and not move – long before it had a chance to hit me. I’m not sure who I was trying to prove it to, certainly not the cop, who I never saw again, but several months later, I decided to try it again. Not wanting to get my friend in trouble, this time, I was alone. I chose a darker colored car, but other than that, everything was much the same. Same street, same place. And at about the same distance, I realized the approaching car was a county cop! Twice in a row! What were the odds?

No, I didn’t get in trouble again. Why? Let’s just say that one kid can effectively disappear a whole lot easier than two.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders