By Charles Towne
There was a time, way back when, that I used to collect all sorts of neat stuff, some of it dead and some of it becoming dead.
(The dead stuff I figured would eventually turn into fossils.”)
I collected treasures, some of it stuff what to you normal folks out there would appear a bit strange.
My mother stopped cleaning my room because some of my treasures were a challenge to her sense of decorum and propriety.
Take scat for instance, and if you don’t know what scat is, well, look it up.
I had a vast collection of scat. Raccoon scat, possum scat, muskrat scat, fox scat, dog scat, cat scat, deer scat, owl scat, etc. etc. etc. I want you to know that my scat collection was the envy of every boy in my hometown.
And then I was always dragging live critters home.
Mama made a mistake once and looked in a wooden box in my room where I was keeping about a dozen garden snakes, fox snakes, and corn snakes.
(It was about this time that I noticed that her hair was beginning to go a bit gray.)
As difficult as it might be for you to believe, MY MAMA RELEASED ALL OF MY SNAKES?
But, understanding that nature abhors a vacuum, and the snake box being empty, I immediately put a beautiful, mean, snarling, smelly old possum in the box that had recently contained the snakes.
My poor mama.
As the years passed some of my collectibles became less gamy.
And then one day, quite by surprise I woke up to discover that I was a man and being a man my interests changed from scat to things a little less odoriferous. Like girls for instance.
We will not discuss girls here but some less controversial collectibles.
Take my cannonball collection for instance. one of my cannon balls was a seventy-pound monster that I thought added something to the décor of our living room.
(My sweet wife, the mother of my four adorable and wonderful children was very patient, just like my mother.)
Well now, that is interesting! I never thought of it before but I guess I was making a collection of little Towne’s and didn’t even know it!
I came home for lunch one day somewhat out of sorts and when I walked through the door I noted this cardboard box in the middle of the floor.
Like I indicated, grumpy old poop that I was, I drew back and kicked that box. What a terrible mistake! One of my sweet, adorable and wonderful offspring had put that box over my very large, very heavy, cast iron cannonball.
As you can imagine when I kicked that accursed box it didn’t move, not even a little bit, but my poor toes did!
Yes, my toes, my poor, poor toes, they folded back over the top of my foot in an interesting way that toes are not supposed to fold, with a copious amount of excruciatingly interesting pain I might add.
(If someone other than myself had experienced that pain it would have been a beautiful thing to behold.)
You, being the level-headed person that you are would never have kicked the box, but me? Well, I, being me, I kicked the box.
Anger is like that, it usually backfires. One thing I can tell you for sure is that when I kicked it I didn’t hurt that old cannonball even a little bit.
Dear Papa God, Please protect us from ourselves. Help us to be the level-headed folks you want us to be, in Jesus’ Holy name I ask it, Amen
And make a difference, today
Charles Towne is first and foremost a Christian. An octogenarian, author, journalist, wildlife photographer, naturalist, caregiver, and survivor, his life has been and continues to be, a never-ending adventure filled with possibilities never imagined. He has adopted the philosophy that to Live fully, laugh uproariously, love passionately, and learn like there is no tomorrow, is a formula for a long and joy-filled life.