The Soil of a Man, the 6th part

[from the the beginning, if you missed it...]



Of course, McCann was particular with me. The angriest I've ever seen him was one afternoon when we were digging trench for a water line. The work had been quiet and steady when McCann asked a question. "Where do you think you want to go in this world, Thad?"



"I don't know, haven't thought about it much," I answered, disinterested.



Over the past months, McCann had asked something similar a number of ways, and I had always blown him off.



"Well, Thad, I think it's time you think about it a little."



I surprised myself with the heat in my voice. "I don't want to think about it, Thomas. I've got no plans. I like it that way."



Thomas pushed his shovel to the ground, landing with a sharp ring as the iron edge glanced off a buried rock. He turned toward me. His voice was calm, but his eyes were fierce. "Thad, you act like nothing matters to you, but that's a heap of shit. You act like nothing matters because you're afraid that someday something will."



I looked right at him, couldn't look away. What was this pressure in my chest? Grabbing my insides and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.



"Son, you're scared. I get that. Most days, I'm scared too. And with the cards you've been dealt, you've earned the right to have a little fear. But fear isn't the end. You've got a strong heart. You've got courage you don't know you have. I see it. I want you to see it. It's time you get on with being the man this world needs you to be."



I felt – I wasn't sure exactly what but now I know the feeling well – I felt the front edge of tears. We picked our shovels back up, and we began to dig, side by side.



[next week, the conclusion...]