4 The Bridge

Not far from our home in Old Shasta, California, was a section of an old back road that was seldom used by automobiles. My sister Marilyn, my brother Richard and several neighborhood friends and I, often went there. It was a good place to play. Along this old road was a cement bridge that spanned a small creek that meandered slowly down the mountain.

The creek had several really neat swimming holes near the bridge. In the heat of the summer time several of us children would go swimming there two or three times every week.

On one particular day, Marilyn, Richard and I, along with two or three other kids, decided to "cool off" in the old swimming hole.

As we approached the bridge on the road, we were curious to see how much water was in the creek and if our swimming pool was deep enough for us to swim in. We looked over the side of the bridge and down at the creek. My brother Richard, who is four years younger than I am, and a lot shorter at that time in our lives, wasn't tall enough to see over the side of the bridge.

Using his natural five year old, creative imagination, he stuck his head through one of the narrow openings in the side of the bridge. His head just fit through the opening and he could see the water below. However, as he tried to pull his head back out of the bridge opening, his ears caught on both sides and he was stuck!

I don't know if my brother had visions of being stuck in that bridge for the rest of his life or if he was just afraid that we were going to leave him. Whatever went through his mind caused a blood curdling scream that shattered the peaceful mountain air and sent a chill through me that I shall never forget. There was always the threat of rattlesnakes and we were always cautioned to be on the lookout for them. For a second or two I thought a rattlesnake had bitten my brother.

Then I saw him kicking and squirming and pulling to get his head free. He looked so funny that I began to laugh. My sister, who is a few years older than I am, gave me a dirty look and then calmly reached over the edge of the bridge and flattened Richard's ears to his head and had him slowly extract his head from the immovable bridge.

Within a second or two Richard went from a doomed life to one of freedom. His crying stopped, we all laughed and then proceeded to the swimming hole to cool ourselves off. Richard never stuck his head through the hole in a bridge from that time on.

Lesson Learned

I have reflected back on that experience several times in my life. In my mind's eye, I could see this small skeleton lying there on the bridge with it's head stuck in the cement opening.

Then I have thought about my brother's ears. Sometimes all of us stick our heads into cement bridges. We say the wrong thing or we do the wrong thing or we get ourselves into a situation that is painful and frightening. Sometimes it is just a matter of folding our ears back and removing ourselves from the problem. Many times, like my brother, we are so emotionally involved that it takes someone else to see our situation and gently help us do what is necessary to free us from the stupid predicament that we, unthinkingly, got ourselves into. It is always good to seek the advise and help and expertise from someone who knows what to do. God bless all of the Marilyns in our lives.