Out of the Miry Bog

When I was a young boy, I lived in a part of the world where not all the roads were paved.  In the small town that I lived in, we didn’t have nice sidewalks on which people could walk.  And not unlike the exaggerated claims made by parents and grandparents who walked 10 miles to school uphill, both ways, I too walked to school everyday.  Well, maybe it wasn’t quite 10 miles, but it wasn’t down the block either.  Let’s just say it was about a mile and a half to two miles.

It didn’t feel long at all, because there were all sorts of interesting things along the way to school and back to home.  There were little stores and street vendors, and near our countryside homes there were dirt roads.  And whenever it rained, puddles would form on these dirt roads, along the side of these dirt roads were these muddy patches and pits of dirt and clay, which were all too enticing for a 9 year old boy.

So I would on occasion veer off the road to step into the muddy pit. And when I did that, I felt the pressure of the mud wrapping itself around my boots squeezing my feet, and I had a sinking feeling, I mean I was literally sinking.  I imagined that I was in quicksand because I had watched enough episodes of Tarzan where someone inauspiciously gets swallowed up by one.  But when I tried to get out, I’m unable to move.  I’m stuck.  I realized I was in trouble, and the only option is to squeeze out of my rain boots, getting my socks and feet dirty, and deal with whatever consequence that will come at home.

Have you ever gotten your boots stuck in the mud?