No Place for BiddiesSeptember 30, 2011
An excerpt from The Thrill of the Chase, A Memoir by Forrest Fenn. The book may be purchased from Collected Works Bookstore in Santa Fe, New Mexico, phone 505-988-4226.
Lots of people are always saying that youth shouldn’t be wasted on the young. What a stupid thing to say. Of course youth should be wasted on the young. That’s when kids start to be noticed as real people instead of just babies. For instance, I remember when I was about eight and overheard two ladies talking. They were neighbors who lived down the block, and both thought they were better than me because they lived in a brick house. One said to the other, talking about me of course, “He’d run away from home but he’s not allowed to cross the street,” and they laughed real hard and didn’t even care who heard. How humiliating do you think that was for a kid my age? And sure enough, it had to happen at the big church social when absolutely everyone was there. Well, I didn’t say anything out loud at the time but I certainly remembered, and I’ve loathed those old biddies ever since. They were a lot older than me, probably at least thirty, and both were married although I can’t imagine how they put that together. How intimate they were with their husbands is probably a matter of academic dispute anyway because the tall one was the best excuse I can think of for zero population growth.
Besides, I could cross the dumb street anytime I wanted to and it was stupid of them to say I couldn’t. I walked to school almost every day didn’t I? And cars were whizzing every which way weren’t they? But just to be safe, my mother always told me to wear clean underwear in case there was an accident. She was smart like that and I usually did what she said because I loved her so much. She was a perfect example of nature’s long-sightedness and everyone around our block knew it. And just to prove the point, when I walked to school I always watched where I put my feet on the sidewalk. “Step on a crack and break your mother’s back.” I always remembered that one, and that’s why my mother was so proud of me.
And as far as running away from home was concerned, no kids ever did that back then because they just didn’t. Those things came later when girls started making trouble. Anyway, those two old biddies are probably long since dead and what do I care? That’ll teach those two.
Drawings courtesy of Allen Polt
About Me
After retiring from the Air Force in 1970, I built an art gallery in Santa Fe that my wife and I ran for seventeen years. Since then, my energies have been directed toward excavation of a large Indian pueblo and writing books about art and exploration. I hope you enjoy my blog! .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)
2 Comments
Jody Canon says: 4:30 am on October 8, 2011
HI Forrest,
Again in your brilliance you strike into such a compelling topic. This kind of thing goes on every day and I think that nowadays it has gotten worse if anything. First of all, anytime anyone makes comments about us, weather it be right in front of us, in front of the whole world, or even behind our backs, there’s a reason behind it.
But why, why do people choose to be so cruel, seemingly oblivious or heartlessly unaware of how devastating the effects can be?
Well, in my opinion there are two reasons. First being they would be attempting to lift themselves up at another’s expense, which of course isn’t possible, since we are all equal in the arms of the creator, (or at least one would hope). Just living in the brick house apparently wasn’t enough, as the house they lived in had nothing to do with who they were. They apparently thought they could get an imaginary boost and when you bought into resisting or even maybe beleiveing their story for a second, you too may have temporarily forgot who you were and are, and always will be.
It’s a shame as life doesn’t appear to come with a manual to remind us. So apparently the tough work is left up to us.
This predictable cycle continues to circulate throughout mankind, and probably dates back to the beginning of existence. Part of me wants to uncover THAT treasure manual; or at least until it magically appears out of the sky, default to inviting the notion that perhaps we are all perfect children of creation. Perhaps that makes me a bit naive, given all the savagery humans are seemingly capable of.
Since there’s really no way to know for sure, perhaps it’s up to our very creator to decide how exactly that all plays out (or not) in the big picture.
One very large gift that may have come from such forgetting is how perhaps we build our entire life’s actions as evidence that we are worthy of having achieved our dreams. The dreams of how we would one day like to be known and seen. Perhaps after all is said and done we (humanity) may someday get how we have always been that all along, such innocent children of creation, ultimately stumbling upon such great treasures of our own making through the darkness of these ages. But again, perhaps I’m a dreamer…
The good news is, you lived on to grow your good fortune and proved their assumptions were short sited and untrue. And even better, you decided to share a very large chunk of that good fortune with the rest of the world. For this I greatly commend you, and wish you all the best. Your reward is not forgotten.
Like you say, you can’t take it with you, but you sure as shooting can have a heck of alot of fun spending such a precious treasure-ful chunk in the most creative way imaginable! Hats off to you for that, and a huge thank you, and YES! I’m off to the hills, or is that the woods?
Great Blessings always, and may the old biddies in us all hopefully someday rest in everlasting peace. Jody
Lisa says: 8:59 am on October 15, 2011
ff writes, “the tall one was the best excuse I can think of for zero population growth.”
Oh, you are a wicked boy, Forrest; that is why we love you :) I, too, thought to run away from home, and figured you had to have a satchel much like Tom and Jerry had when they went on expedition: A stick with a polka-dotted handkerchief tied up at the end. The I was flummoxed as to what to put in my kit bag. Tooth brush, an apple, but beyond that I was stymied. When I got near the end of the block at the mail box I stopped, as I had never walked farther alone. That was Lisa’s great 5 y-o non-adventure :(
People so often do not know the sting of their words; likewise, others do not realize how one very small kind word may make all the difference to one in need. You are in the latter group, f. Drive on, dear friend.