CHUCK THE BEAR
by Therese M. Guy
Pride, the bane of the human race. Too little and we are considered to suffer low self-esteem, too much and we are arrogant. Being all too human, I too struggle with this curse of mankind. I was not blessed with long golden tresses, or flashing green eyes, nor the grace of a gazelle. I was not gifted with the super intellect of the Mensa members. No, my pride has always been in the area of physical strength. I’ve always been a tomboy and chosen career paths that use to have been thought proper, only for the physically stronger male members of society. First joining the Army, and then owning an operating a martial arts studio.
My elder sister, when she was young was the opposite. She was a social butterfly and a cheerleader. To me a real city girl. I asked Santa for things like, cowboy guns and horse saddles, she asked for a sewing machine and hot curlers.
Although we were raised Christian I have to believe a little in the interference of the fairies. Like the poor characters beset by outside interference in Shakespeare’s, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” My sister’s path went down a rustic lifestyle. Although I felt admiration for her, I was plagued by another human blight, jealousy.
She wore proof of her strength literally around her neck, in the form of a bear claw necklace. The claws came from the bear she killed protecting her children in their north woods cabin.
I dreamt of such feats when I was young. I still remember my favorite after-school TV show, “Daniel Boone.” The tree in the introduction of the show revealed a carved inscription, “D. Boon Cilled a bar 1760” His feat of strength immortalized to this very day.
So, at nineteen I packed my bags and headed north to join my sister in this perceived idyllic lifestyle. I took a job at the local resort. No car horns or sirens assaulted your ears. No streetlights or neon signs shown through the windows late at night. It was quite serene.
What I failed to realize was that this bucolic setting meant that local entertainment choices consisted of reading, playing cards at a neighbors or watching the lent collect in between your toes. The nearest movie theater was 40 miles north into Canada. Although the Shoreline of Lake Superior was the view out my bedroom window, at my tender age I was missing the view from my city apartment window, of athletic, shirtless, basketball players in the courtyard below.
Staff housing for the resort workers was located just up a hill through a little patch of woods. A well-worn path wound through it and was easily traversed in the daylight. At night it was a little more difficult and most people used a flashlight. Since the resort was in this semi-wilderness area, bear sightings were not a rare occurrence. In fact these members of the Ursidae family often raided the resorts refuge bins.
Finally my opportunity to join in the elite group of infamous beast killers came.
I had heard that there was a play being put on at the lodge by a Canadian theatrical group.I did not want to miss this rare treat of outside entertainment and headed down to the resort. It was evening and in my haste I forgot my flashlight. I was not concerned because even though I could not see the path my feet had memorized the daily trek. No moon shown that night. As I walked through the inky blackness a loud, leaf-crunching sound came from in front of me.
“Oh crap, a bear!” Came the thought. A great surge of adrenaline and ferocity shot through my body. I cocked back my arm and balled up my fist and punched straight into the dark path ahead of me, hoping to connect with the invisible snout of the bear.
“Crack!” A satisfying noise rang out along with wet warmth that was felt across my knuckles. It was immediately followed by a thud on the ground in front of me.
Then I heard a low moan and the muffled words, “Therese .. Therese .. is that you?”
I recognized the voice of one of my co-workers. “Chuck .. Chuck .. is that you?”
“Yeah, why’da hit me?”
“I thought you were a bear.”
“Why would you hit a bear?”
He had me there. “I dunno.” I replied, as I bent down and felt for his arm to pull him up. Chuck and I traveled down to the lodge’s kitchen and found an ice bag for his sore bloody nose.
Later that night I contemplated Chuck's question, “Why would you punch a bear?” I realized the outcome could have been very different had it really been a bear. It was that darn curse of pride. That old proverb popped into my head,Pride goeth before the fall.
Yes, pride went before the fall, in this case not my fall, or the bears fall, but definitely before poor Chucks fall.
