AN UNFORGETTABLE KID

Today I met an old soul.  A tough, amazing, capable old soul.

His name is Axel.  Axel is probably 9 years old if not a bit younger.

He lives on his family ranch on the Front Range south of Denver. He is 8^th generation on that Homestead.   After getting home and looking it up – I found that they homesteaded in 1871 and have been there ever since.

Setting the scene.

As you pull into the yard you will see old and newer structures scattered around. Mature trees are clustered around buildings.  All the buildings in fairly good condition; none recently restored and decorative but all still in use and highly functional.  Also, you will be greeted by a menagerie of vehicles – vintage, 1950s and 1960s cars and trucks and a scattering of old tractors.  All vehicles are in fairly good condition but sweaty, not restored.  I notice two late 50s Ford trucks – one 4x4 and the other 2x4 – I learned to drive in a 1957, 4x4 Ford pickup. I knew that in 1957 that truck didn’t come 4x4 – it was an aftermarket, modification.  Both these trucks were in solid condition – again not restored but solid, good tires and obviously “drivers.”

I went there to buy rough cut lumber from these folks, some 2x4s and 2x8s.  I had called another lumber yard and they referred me. When I pulled into the yard a thick, squat black and white pit bull with a wide smile came out of an open shop door and greeted me enthusiastically.  The shop was filled with various pieces of equipment and more vehicles.  I didn’t see any people so I hollered a few “hellos”.

A 30-something man came out of the shop wiping his hands with a red-rag.  Then out of an inner, side door came another man about the same age and with him was Axel.  Axel was no taller than 4’, in a worn, green ball cap and a plaid cotton, button up, untucked shirt and faded Wrangler Jeans. 

I told them what I was there for and they remembered my email from the week before asking if they had what I needed. The one working on the truck asked for the other’s help and they asked if I could wait a few minutes.  I said, sure.  I walked out to admire the Ford trucks and a wicked-cool Fairlane.  They had a Ford-thing. That was clear.  I asked about the Ford 4x4 and the boy said it was a 1957.  I said, “Oh yeah, I learned to drive on one of those! Who made it into a 4x4? I remembered that the truck I learned on was “pre-factory-Ford 4x4?”  He said, Yeah it didn’t come that way. The first year Ford made a 4x4 was 1959.  Yes, was impressed! LOL this kid knew Fords the way my cousin Hugh knew Buicks when he was a kid.

The 2^nd man came out, shook my hand, again, the little guy at his side – I didn’t know anyone’s name yet.  The man told me that the mill was across the pasture and over the hill and I could follow them.  Axel yelled, Ruger!  Get in truck!  And the black and white pit bull hopped into the bed one of the two Ford Trucks. Axel put up the tailgate – he could barely reach. This truck was the sweatier of the two Fords but it was very much “all there” and the body was super-straight.

The man, who I now knew as Chad hopped in the truck – but wait, he hopped in the passenger side.  Maybe the driver’s side didn’t open?  Nope Axel hopped behind the wheel and off they went, down the road across the pasture, across the creek and up to the mill and gravel pit.  I watched the two “men” talked and turn their heads toward each other and back forward in conversation.  I could barely SEE the back of Axel’s little head!

He parked the truck at the mill yard and they all tumbled out – Ruger included.  Axel ran off with Ruger and I HAD to ask about him!  I asked Chad if he was his son and he said, “No, he’s my brother’s kid.”  I commented on him driving on the ranch and thought it was great!  Chad said, yeah that is his truck.  He bought it from a junkyard with his own money.  He rebuilt the motor with his dad.  Axel and Ruger scampered back to the truck and he said, “Ruger, let’s go swimmin” and off they went back over the hill in that kid’s truck.  A tiny driver with an exuberant pit bull hanging his head (and tongue) over the tailgate.

Chad and I loaded lumber and let me tell you a REAL 2x4 and a REAL 2x8 is a REAL piece of lumber!  You would not believe how different they are from what Home Depot sells. How can they even call it a 2x4?  He liked that I had worn gloves and a REAL truck.  He told me of an urbanite gal who had recently bought a single 1x4 from him for a “project.” She came in her Hyundai and wailed when she got a splinter – if you don’t use gloves with rough cut lumber you deserve a splinter.  He was clearly not enchanted with City-folk.  It was then I learned Axel’s name.  Chad told me that Axel had been driving that truck all over the ranch for a couple of years.  I asked about the ranch and how big the place was. Chad said that family over the years had carved out chunks – so…and mumbled about it as though it had become small.  I asked how many acres they had left with a sympathetic tone; thinking it had gotten “small.”  He said, “Oh we still have about 3000 acres left. 

I exclaimed, WOW, and we are fat, dumb and happy on our 35!”  He also told me that he was 7^th generation to live and work on that land – as Axel was his nephew I did the math. I was floored.  These guys sell rough cut lumber, gravel and hay.  They USE their land and the way it looked they loved it too.  Not pristine like a rich man’s land – but so clearly cared for.  I told him that I thought Axel was pretty amazing – I asked again, “That is HIS truck and HE rebuilt the motor?”  He said, “Yep he did most of it and yep it is HIS truck.  He picked it out at the junk yard.”

I said, “That kid is going to do just fine in the world.” 

Chad responded, “Yeah, but he has a hard time relating with other kids his age.” That didn’t surprise me.  It made me a little sad.  Not for Axel but for the kids who would never “get” him and who would never learn 1/10^th of what this kid already knew about the world.

After we were loaded Chad hopped on my “running board” (nerf bar) and said, “Let’s go.” We talked more across the cab through the open, rear window.  He petted my dogs with his free hand holding onto my roof rack with the other.  As we topped the hill we saw Axel and Ruger down at the creek romping with each other – his truck parked in the shade.  Chad said, “This is good” and they all hopped back into Axel’s truck and headed back to the shop. Ruger now an even MORE ecstatic, WET dog on a hot day.

We all went into the office together to figure up what I owed them.  I was sitting on a chrome and “leatherette” stool. Axel clambered up beside me on his own stool.  He just quietly watched us do business.  Then neither Chad nor I knew the date (I was writing a check) and Axel jumped up on another stool to check the calendar.  It was “Proud to Be American” flavored calendar and after giving us the date, Axel exclaimed, “Hey, today is Donald Trump’s birthday!”  It was pre-printed on the calendar.   He hopped back down and took his former seat.  We talked general politics, stupid laws and city-slickers. Axel was as much a part of the conversation as any of us.  He had opinions on electric cars, what was used to charge them and then we talked about the marginal benefits of the use or DEF in new diesel trucks.

I gave Chad my check, he gave me a receipt written out on lined, binder paper.  I thanked them both and headed for my truck.  Axel, Ruger and Chad all stood in the shade of the shop door and waved good bye.

If I could have, I would have stayed just to talk to Axel.  I wanted to learn so much more about him!  I told them both that they would see me again – hey they sell gravel – we need gravel.  They sell hay – we need hay.  But for sure, I am going to see that kid again.  And they don’t take credit cards but they will take a “good check.”

What a kid he is. I wish there were a lot more of him.

Suicide, Present Day -- Depression or Choice?

The suicide rate for people of middle age has gone up in every state in the US.  My question is this.  Does suicide, always have to mean the person was depressed?  I don’t believe it does.  I do not believe in today’s world that “not wanting to live” always equates to “being depressed”.   In some cases without doubt it does stem from depression.  I ache for people who hurt so badly that ending their life looks like relief. This hits very close to home for my family with tragic results. At the same time, to better understand what is going on in our society, to think about what else might be going on is valuable.

Could suicide be a pragmatic decision that an individual has a right to make?  I believe for this population, middle-aged Americans, the increased suicide rate could in part be an illustration is that they just aren’t at all interested in what their future, those remaining years, looks like.  Maybe sort of a “tap out”.  And in a world where so many of our liberties are being taken from us, could it be the ultimate “I control this” we have left?  This is not meant to be a political statement at all.  It is much deeper than that – because I would argue that the most recent celebrity deaths probably are not people who were concerned about their “loss of liberties” the same way the conservative right defines them.  I do NOT pretend to know however if these losses were or were not directly related to depression; these events however prompted thought.

If as a nation this trend concerns us, I recommend that we look to the much lauded, socialist utopias of Scandinavia.  These nations, while touting high rates of “national happiness” also have higher suicide rates than the United States.  So how can a nation be “happiest” and also have a high suicide rate?  Might suicide not always be connected to “depression?”  It is worth pondering and even worth study.

The following are A-political ponders.  Nothing more. Nothing less.  I do not have any judgement here – they are just like I said, ponders.

• As the nation becomes less and less religious, we have no religious pressures around suicide – it isn’t a sin if you don’t believe in sin.
• This generation has grown up in a world were abortion has been nothing but a political issue – it isn’t a “life”.  It is just a “procedure” or “a choice.”
• We have legal channels through which we can commit suicide if we are faced with a low quality of life.  We have fought for this right based on our right to choose.  

So now life – is a choice – based on both abortion and assisted suicide.

Is life sacred for this generation?  Or has life simply become somewhat of an idea of “energy in a vessel” – is it just a choice? Can life be sacred without faith anyway?  Is life sacred for any generation after?

I know that I cannot be the ONLY one who ponders this topic this way.  That would be impossible because I am simply not that “special.” Personally, I have a DNR; even 30 years ago they were uncommon. Fifty years ago - unheard of.  I have very deliberate and well thought-out directives about the perpetuation (or non-perpetuation) of my life under certain conditions. If faced with certain things I do NOT want to live. "Quality" for each of us is different but if a person sees that “quality” is highly improbable then why should we be surprised when they opt out?  Even a celebrity who seems to “have it all” might see their future as unappealing for their own personal reasons.  Their standards are uniquely their own; no one of us has the same standards of what is or is not “quality” and I don't believe that those "standards" always include depression.  I argue too that “quality” is directly connected to liberty and freedom in the most basic, NON-political sense -- whatever their interpretations of liberty and freedom are.

The mere idea that people can HAVE almost clinical-type thoughts about this and not be shocked by it tells me that something has changed in our culture.  I do not believe that a culture that sees abortion as a choice and also embraces assisted suicide can expect that this disconnection with “life” would not also affect the suicide rate.  In effect, “Life is a choice and I have the right to choose.”  That is the message from conception to old age.

I believe there is something that runs DEEPLY in each of us, that most don’t even know they have that screams, “I MUST BE THE MASTER OF MY OWN DESTINY.” That is why young men run bravely into war. Freedom, whatever that looks like to a person, is worth dying for. If that freedom (quality) seems impossible then ending their life is not a surprising response. 

As we insidiously lose personal liberties and the things that make our lives have “quality” does our unconscious mind struggle to find ways to offset that loss?  Couple that with laws that support the ending of life – both at the beginning and at the end – is it any wonder that people who are not depressed consider taking their own life into their own hands?

Is there something inside us that screams for personal freedom and is some suicide an expression of that?