Folklore has it that once upon a time all camels were dromedaries (one hump), but thoughtless masters kept loading more and more heavy bundles on the dromedary’s back and suddenly, when the master picked up a lightweight straw which was lying on the ground and put it on top of the bundles, the camel’s back broke in two.
That’s how we supposedly have some camels with two humps. It is also the story behind the straw which is said to have broken the back of the original one-humped camel.
It was my Uncle Frank who shared the story of folklore with me. I believed him when I asked why some camels have one hump and some have two; it was among the million questions I asked as a child, and I did press him with yet another question, “But, how come some camels still only have one hump?”
Uncle Frank replied, “They were lucky no one burdened them too much.” And, then he gave me a hug and said, “Sometimes one question too many is a straw which can break a camel’s back.”
I may have been a kid, but I finally understood what he meant. I saw evidence of it all over the place.
A grammar-school friend, Dick, was an old smoothie who was always a few minutes late for everything but would smile, sweetly apologize, give some semi-truthful excuse and never received any repercussions. But, then we hit fourth-grade, and Miss Loftus, one of the greatest teachers ever, had given him the benefit of the doubt a few times.
One day Dick came in a few minutes after the final bell had rung. How he could feign being out of breath was a matter of genius, but he came in huffing, “Oh I am so sorry Miss Loftus. My mother isn’t well so I washed the breakfast dishes before I left.”
Miss Loftus stood up, looked the prevaricator straight in the eye and said, “Richard. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back. When I drove to school past your house I saw your mother hanging out clothes. See this eraser? It’s yours every afternoon for two weeks, and, when you’re finished erasing the boards you will write ‘no more excuses’ as many times as it takes until I am ready to leave the classroom.”
We all reach some moment when we have had it up to our well shaped-ears. Remember the movie, “Network,” in which the broadcaster stuck his head out the window and yelled, “I’m not going to take it anymore”? If you took any courses in psychology you learned about “contributing causes” and “precipitating causes” which can cause a breakdown of the emotional system.
“Contributing causes” are the day-to-day abuses one endures but is still able to maintain a sense of emotional equilibrium. The “precipitating cause” is that one extra thing which could be as casual and insignificant as a feather but it throws a person “off the ledge.”
My mother best explained it to me when in high school I asked why a man we all knew no longer lived with his sister and her family. My mother explained the woman had waited on her brother who never worked, who drank and got into arguments with the family she always defended him. But, one day when she had just finished washing and waxing the kitchen floor (yes, kitchen floors did get waxed back in those days) her brother came in with muddy boots and tracked the floor. That did it. He never was allowed in that home again.
I have had a few occasions when a straw has broken this camel’s back.
Last year, I once again struggled to plant flowers at our family graves in North Adams and in Holyoke. By tradition, I arrived before Memorial Day with flats of plants, fertilizer, trowel, bags of mulch and watering can. I never minded getting down on my knees and planting. In fact, I always did the planting around our house. I love digging in the soil with my bare hands.
As arthritis began to make it a bit difficult, I resorted first to using a padded kneeler and then to doing my planting from a chair. Last year, no matter how I tried I could not get up. I hung on to the headstone with a fleeting thought, “Well, the head stone says Bernard, so if I drop here they can dig the hole and push me in.”
Thankfully, practicality overcame my dark humor, and I pulled myself up on the headstone, draping myself over it and then hung there for a while until I got feeling back in my legs, feet and back. That was the straw that broke this camel’s back. In the coming year, if I can’t find anyone who does planting, I will forgo in-ground flowers and use pots.
If you feel a straw could break your back you can do one of two things. Say “no” to anything that you know will just be too much to handle. Or, having read this column, begin refusing to allow “contributing causes” to pile up and that way you won’t have to be concerned about that last straw.
Barbara C. Bernard, of Holyoke, is a columnist for The Republican.