Crack the Whip

On these morning walks, when the ground is halfway frozen but squishing to mud, my thoughts roam back to the spring mornings when Nancy and I walked to school through edges of lawns and fields, arguing about when the actual first day of Spring was official. It seemed her Mam Fry always had a different date than my mother - who probably got her info from Arthur Godfrey! All I remember was the sun's warmth was a tease and recess beckoned throughout the day's lessons.

I remember one day, the big farm boys decided the muddy schoolyard was the ideal place to play Crack the Whip and as bullying was alive and well in those days as well, they put one of my classmates on the tail of the whip. He was already in social arrears and had gotten the nickname Allen-Ballen- Lunch Kettle because when he got a new lunch kettle he proudly showed it to the teacher when one of the Big Boys was around. Thus the name.

When indeed that human whip was cracked he went flying into the mud. Hands, face, clothes were caked with gooey brown and he needed to walk the long way back to home and get cleaned up. I don't think anyone paid for their crimes. Indeed, when he returned much later in clean clothes, he still hadn't gotten the picture and proudly announced to the teacher that his mother had given him a marshmallow to comfort him! Talk about red meat to the pack!

Spring, mud and bullies.... the cycles of life. Who knows, the bullies may have had miserable lives and Allen Ballen Lunch Kettle gone on to glorious heights. All I know for sure, is that the April earth is giving rise to green shoots, new beginnings and second chances.