I have been intending to write this story for years.
My intention is always piqued at an inopportune time, however. The time my intention is piqued is inopportune because I am out walking Tucker (the furry guy) – often after dark - in an old sand pit that has become a park.
And when I walk in that old sandpit, in the snow, in the rain, with stars overhead,
I remember the story my long dead friend John Sorabella told me…..
John was about 14 years old. John was always about business. Immigrant parents. He had access to a 4 wheel cart with a couple of horses. Some one needed some sand – for masonry work, for whatever…John was off with the team and the wagon to the sand pit.
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A little background here…John was 65 or 70 when he was telling me this years ago…John always had a cigarette sort of stuck to his lower lip…like Frank Sinatra…dry saliva musta been the glue…and the once lit cigarette would bob up and down as John spoke.
Being a smoker, John’s voice was phenomenally raspy and dry sounding. Like he had sand in his throat.
“Hhhrreeeaaayhhh” he would say. (that’s HEY) Sounded totally Sopranos. Totally God Father.
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My friend Paul and I were meeting with John at John’s business because of a wetlands/flooding issue in which Paul and I were involved. John wanted to talk about the past – talk about the times when John was a young hustler with two horses and a wagon.
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“So I got a customer who was paying me for bringing him sand from the sand pit. So I took the team and the wagon up to the sand pit and asked the pit attendant fellow how much would it cost for a load of sand on the wagon.
The pit attendant gave me a set price – not for weight, but for the wagon.
So I paid the pit attendant and I took the wagon into the pit and got out my shovel and started loading ….and I had time to think…I thought the sky’s the limit…I can load the wagon to the moon, sell some to the first customer, and have sand left to sell to a second customer.
I loaded the wagon ‘til the sand was just sliding off..
Then I got up into the wagon, grabbed the reins, and yelled at the horses to go…
The wagon wouldn’t budge. All four wheels were mired down in the sand.
TOO much WEIGHT.
I gave the horses another yell, and smacked them with the bamboo switch.
The horses gave a massive heave, ripped off the traces, and left for home.
So every time I walk Tucker in the old sand pit, now a park, I say thanks to John.
What a wonderful parable to let me understand that when you can take it all, only a fool takes more than what is reasonable and expected – or something like that.
Thanks John.