Sunday, July 25, 2010

How Useful Can You Get?

In 1901, Booker T. Washington wrote, “I think I would now be a more useful man if I had had time for sports” (Up From Slavery, Chapter 1) After thinking this passage over many times, I have concluded that I have no idea what the hell he means. Some people are just never satisfied, are they? How much more useful could he become?

Growing up and founding Tuskegee Institute would certainly have made his mother put a whole encyclopedia of bumper stickers on her mini-van. Sean’s twelve, and I’m proud as hell that he can run a rope-start mower all by himself. At the age of five, Booker could haul a fifty-pound sack of corn three miles on horseback, have it ground at the mill and return home after dark with the woods full of deserted soldiers waiting to cut off a Negro boy’s ears. At least that’s what they told him so that he wouldn’t stop and play along the way.

As I try to list the useful things that I can do, I’ll admit, I’m impressed.

1. Bathe myself
2. Write novels
3. Drive a semi
4. Raise the seat
5. Fold laundry
6. Change the toilet paper roll
7. Drive a semi on Long Island
8. Send attachments on e-mail
9. Wipe up dog piss
10. Scare the shit out of low-lifes standing on Tessa’s porch after dark asking for money.

Yes, I’m impressed. But, like Booker, I suspect there are things I could be more useful at.

1. Be better at sex
2. Speak Icelandic
3. Learn how to code in html
4. Establish a university
5. Train my dogs without beating them
6. Kill religious terrorists of all stripes
7. Fly the Space Shuttle
8. Develop a Proton—Boron 11 fusion reactor
9. Paint the hallway by the bathroom door
10. ____________[this space left blank for Tessa to fill in]______________

Unlike Booker, however, I do not think that my participation in sports would help me accomplish any of these things. Maybe, if I had my own set of clubs I could frighten people off the porch with the help of a five iron, but I could just as easily hurt myself with it. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure Booker would shit a burlap sack of corn if he could see what we consider sports in the twenty-first century. Google “cup stacking” or “sport stacking”. I’m too useful to explain it.

8 comments:

TessaLeFae said...

10. Learn to enjoy shopping.

CarryABook said...

People who participate in martial arts probably don't consider it a "sport", but wasn't it part of the Sunflower State Games?
And the practice of martial arts makes number 6 and number 9 on the latter list possible (wax on, paint up.) It might even help number one, but that's a blog for someone else.

Fred Miller said...

Very funny, Tessa. I'm being serious, here.

Good point, Dave. I made a case some weeks ago that the martial arts have made me less useful. See Flogging My Log. The Miyagi system of martial arts training merely makes one more useful at housework.

Angela said...

That shopping thing might be a genetic defect, Tessa. I don't know anybody in our bloodline who likes shopping, except maybe Cara, and that's mostly the thrill of the kill looking for better and better deals.

Great blog, Fred. I'm going to make a list for myself, if I get my homework done. Crap, I'm too old for college! I asked an instructor if anybody born during the Eisenhower administration could get extra credit for remembering they were in school at all. She laughed. I said, "How about the first Eisenhower administration?" No good.

Fred Miller said...

Sorry I called you "Dave," Taran. I have a friend named Dave who loves being intriguing every bit as much as you do.

Ange, I see no reason why that should not be worth at least one credit hour. We all know people who have earned credit hours by placing their heads in choir pictures.

Unknown said...

Number five "Folding Laundry"
that's the hottest one on the list.
Useful as all get out...

House rules for Hubby:
You make the bed
You most definitely gonna get laid in it. :)

Rene

Angela said...

I agree, Fred. I sat beside a gal today that was two years younger than my youngest kid! To my credit, I didn't throw her out the window. How dare she sit there, unwrinkled, ungrayed?

Fred Miller said...

Ange, you reminded me of Erma Bombeck's joke. "My priest is so young the confessional reeks of Clearasil."