Freedom's Just Another Word for...

Several years ago, my brother told me about a colleague that he golfed with. One day after the colleague relieved himself in the woods, he came out and told my brother, "You know, if I couldn't piss in the woods, I'd give up golf completely."

Sure, when nature literally calls and you're in the middle of nowhere, you do what you have to do. But personally I'm more worried about my reaction if a rattlesnake or copperhead slithers up while I'm doing my business rather than embracing the act as some sort of freedom loving, rapturous experience. As time has gone on, I am apparently in the minority.

Back when we lived almost in the country, yet still in a housing development of which we were the last house bordering a somewhat less prosperous development, I walked out to the backyard one day to mow the lawn. I looked up across the chain link fence and saw our neighbor relieving himself in his backyard. Stunned, I didn't know what to do so I just waved. He waved back, sort of. In his defense, he may have not had indoor plumbing, but I doubt it.

A few years later, I was at a friend's house where a big group of mostly guys gathered to brew beer. Homebrewing is one of those hobbies that's best enjoyed while drinking beer. And since it takes about five hours, nature will undoubtedly call. Luckily this house had indoor plumbing; I would know because I used it. But then I noticed the other guys had some sort of aversion to walking twenty feet to the house and the bathroom, because they would just stand by the side of the garage and let it rip.

I tried to figure out why they couldn't take the extra two minutes to walk to the house. What would they miss? Heck, they could even take their beer with them into the bathroom if they wanted. I finally decided that it was some sort of bonding experience. By the garage, they were close enough that you could cheer or shout encouragement if you wanted. Or maybe they were acting like a pack of dogs where once one dog marked his spot, all the rest had to do the same on the same spot. I never did bond with them.

A couple of months ago, St. Pauli Girl and I sat on the front porch late at night in the dark watching some seldom seen rain actually fall in our neighborhood. After awhile, our next door neighbor pulled up in his pickup truck. He has an interesting relationship with the old widow across the street in that he mows her lawn, stores his motorcycle in her garage and often parks his truck in her driveway.

He threw his truck in reverse and carefully backed into her driveway. We gasped as the truck headed diagonally across the driveway and toward a tree. He stopped just in time, straightened it out and successfully parked. He stayed in the truck for a few minutes with the lights still on. Then he got out in the rain, went to the side of the garage and proceeded to relieve himself in her front yard. He then climbed back in the truck, turned off the lights, and we never saw him come back out. We assumed he slept in the truck.

"We really need to move out of this neighborhood," we both said in unison.

I wondered if my brother still played golf with that colleague. I kind of doubt it after so many years and moves. But if my brother ever sees him again, I hope he tells the colleague that he's a prophet. At least in my book.