Piles

It was 10 am on a Saturday.  I was not much for sleeping in, but Saturday's for me were sacred as they are for many.  I tried not to plan anything on that day so as to relax, listen to music, watch T.V. and essentially veg the day away as any high school student would do.  However, this particular Saturday, which was truthfully just like any other Saturday, my father needed help with the piles.
Booooorrrrkks!   Boooooooooorrrrkkkssss!!!  BOOOOOOOOOOORRRRKKKKSSSSSS!!!!!

Borks was a nickname I gave myself as a 4 year old.  My father had the tendency to call my name with crescendo.  The first time he would call me, I would pretend to be in a location in our 2000 square foot home where I could not hear him.  Or, I would immediately put on headphones so he would think that is why I did not come.  The second call would give me goose bumps.  He knew I heard.  He knew I ignored. I hope he did not take it personally, I just did not want to pick up piles on a Saturday.  Then the third call.  The third call manipulated my body.  Just by calling my name and somehow making this one syllable word seem like the longest word in the dictionary, it would take control of my legs, make my heart rate accelerate and send me out to pick up the piles.

There were a variety of piles.  One of sharp juniper, another of the squared shaped green leafy tree.  There was a pile of a thick leafy bush.  The leaves of this bush would bleed clear fluid if you broke them in two.  They made a great ingredient for my friends and my famous yard soup.  There was a pile of grey dust, darker dust, sawdust and as I got older, plastic dust from photo cutouts of the grandkids.  There were large piles, small piles, fat piles but no rat piles.  The piles were in the grass, along the wall, on the cracked driveway and in the garage.  They were on the side yard and on the patio.  These piles were made each Saturday morning by Big D and his tools.  He used a broom, an edger, a weedwacker, lawnmower and other various tools.  I too, became proficient with each of these tools.  His words still ring in my head.  "Borks, don't cut the cord or you will die."

By the end of the afternoon, the piles would be gone.  The yard looked sharp.  It was not a huge yard but it was well kept.  I would feel proud in spite of my reluctance in the morning.  This past week, I along with my beautiful but strong wife and later with our kids, moved a large pile.  We moved 4 cubic yards of soil to the backyard from the front in preparation for a vegetable and herb garden.  I needed to move the pile on a rainy day in order to take advantage of the time I had.  As I moved the wheel barrel at least 50 times back and forth, I remembered the simple piles made by Big D.  I felt grateful.  I better understood the hearts of the children turning to the fathers and fathers to the children.  I realized that by picking up piles, putting on the roof, changing the tires, building the shelves, painting the patio, grooming the yard and much more, my father, Big D, was teaching me.  He taught me the importance of work and instilled in me a desire to grow.  Big D, thank you!  Thank you for the piles.  I may of scattered when you called but now love to make piles myself.  Now, awaiting the confidence that I can pass along the same lessons and more to my own.  Love Borks