Being a Boy | Page 4

of Charles Dudley Warner
4warn10.txt or 4warn10.zip

BEING A BOY
One of the best things in the world to be is a boy; it requires no
experience, though it needs some practice to be a good one. The
disadvantage of the position is that it does not last long enough; it is
soon over; just as you get used to being a boy, you have to be
something else, with a good deal more work to do and not half so much
fun. And yet every boy is anxious to be a man, and is very uneasy with
the restrictions that are put upon him as a boy. Good fun as it is to yoke
up the calves and play work, there is not a boy on a farm but would
rather drive a yoke of oxen at real work. What a glorious feeling it is,
indeed, when a boy is for the first time given the long whip and
permitted to drive the oxen, walking by their side, swinging the long
lash, and shouting "Gee, Buck!" "Haw, Golden!" "Whoa, Bright!" and
all the rest of that remarkable language, until he is red in the face, and
all the neighbors for half a mile are aware that something unusual is
going on. If I were a boy, I am not sure but I would rather drive the
oxen than have a birthday. The proudest day of my life was one day
when I rode on the neap of the cart, and drove the oxen, all alone, with
a load of apples to the cider-mill. I was so little that it was a wonder
that I did n't fall off, and get under the broad wheels. Nothing could
make a boy, who cared anything for his appearance, feel flatter than to
be run over by the broad tire of a cart-wheel. But I never heard of one
who was, and I don't believe one ever will be. As I said, it was a great
day for me, but I don't remember that the oxen cared much about it.
They sagged along in their great clumsy way, switching their tails in
my face occasionally, and now and then giving a lurch to this or that
side of the road, attracted by a choice tuft of grass. And then I "came
the Julius Caesar" over them, if you will allow me to use such a slang
expression, a liberty I never should permit you. I don't know that Julius
Caesar ever drove cattle, though he must often have seen the peasants
from the Campagna "haw" and "gee" them round the Forum (of course
in Latin, a language that those cattle understood as well as ours do
English); but what I mean is, that I stood up and "hollered" with all my
might, as everybody does with oxen, as if they were born deaf, and
whacked them with the long lash over the head, just as the big folks did
when they drove. I think now that it was a cowardly thing to crack the
patient old fellows over the face and eyes, and make them wink in their

meek manner. If I am ever a boy again on a farm, I shall speak gently
to the oxen, and not go screaming round the farm like a crazy man; and
I shall not hit them a cruel cut with the lash every few minutes, because
it looks big to do so and I cannot think of anything else to do. I never
liked lickings myself, and I don't know why an ox should like them,
especially as he cannot reason about the moral improvement he is to get
out of them.
Speaking of Latin reminds me that I once taught my cows Latin. I don't
mean that I taught them to read it, for it is very difficult to teach a cow
to read Latin or any of the dead languages,--a cow cares more for her
cud than she does for all the classics put together. But if you begin
early, you can teach a cow, or a calf (if you can teach a calf anything,
which I doubt), Latin as well as English. There were ten cows, which I
had to escort to and from pasture night and morning. To these cows I
gave the names of the Roman numerals, beginning with Unus and Duo,
and going up to Decem. Decem was, of course, the biggest cow of the
party, or at least she was the ruler of the others, and had the place of
honor in the stable and everywhere else. I admire cows, and especially
the exactness with which they define their social position. In this case,
Decem could "lick" Novem, and Novem could "lick" Octo, and so on
down to Unus, who