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Location: Clearwater, South Carolina, United States

Friday, August 12, 2005

flawed plan

Most of my growing up years were spent in and around 534 Hickman Road in Augusta Georgia. This was also before the evils of television stifled the creativeness of play that all young minds have, to one degree or another, and the greatest danger any of us faced was disobeying our parents.

This is probably hard for some to believe, but the kids in our neighborhood would actually go outside and just play together - for hours - if we had no appointed chores.

At some point during this time we became the recipients of the unspeakably wonderful gift of an old soap box derby racer. Almost all of the upper body skin was gone, leaving only the flat frame and wheels with a rope to guide. This contraption was affectionately called "mule train" by all the neighborhood kids.

The road on which we resided was unpaved - just dirt - for the first several years and was a medium sized hill, declining from South to North. Our house was about middle of the block and at the point the incline of the road was starting to level out.

Our favorite usage of the aforementioned vehicle was to tow it to the highest point of our road, load it with as many kids as it would hold, and ride it to the bottom. Though this seems rather tame today, we seldom tired of our adventurous set of wheels.

It was during one of these recurring activities that a flawed plan came into my mind. On this day, seeing that I was seated on the very back of our exalted vehicle, the plan was to keep my hands on "mule train" while jumping off with my feet and start them running before they touched the dirt. Then I would push very fast, jump back on and be a hero for giving our crew a much faster, more exciting ride.

The flaw in this became very apparent as soon as my feet touched the road. They were not moving fast enough, went out from under me, leaving no visible means of support or propulsion. The result was my skidding to a stop, face first in the middle of our dirt thoroughfare, leaving me with abrasions and contusions on various physical and emotional parts of me, with the mental part making a note in bold letters to never try that plan again.

The worst flawed plan would be to leave Jesus out of our planning.


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