The Muddy McCluddys

Clim McCluddy and his twin brother Clem were fighting. First they were fighting over toys, then they were fighting over food. Then they were fighting over a chair. Then they were fighting over a pillow. It was really silly. Finally when they broke down into shoving and hitting each other, their father had had enough.

“Outside you two! It's time for a dunk in the mud!”

“No! Father!” they chorused in dismay. But father was angry and determined that they would be dunked in the mud.

Behind the house was a deep gulch of icky gray mud. Father marched them out there and pointed.

“In you go!”

“Why do we have to get dunked in the mud every time we fight!? Why does everyone in this village do this to their children? It's cruel!”

“Get in the mud and roll around and I'll tell you.”

They groaned, but they tiptoed into the gulch up to their ankles, hiking their pant legs up to their knees.

“No, no,” father said. “All the way. Dunk right in, head to toe.”

“But father!” they chorused again. “Can we at least take our clothes off first!?”

“No. In you go, clothes and all” father said. And he pushed them in one by one with the toe of his boot. They sank down until they were completely covered. Then they sat up gasping, covered head to toe with icky gray mud.

“Gross!” Clem groaned.

“Yuck!” Clim agreed, slinging a great goop of mud from his fingers. It splattered on Clem's arm.

“Hey! Stop it!” Clem shouted, and slung some mud back at him. “This is all your fault! If you hadn't-”

But right then, father burst out laughing a loud, boisterous laugh and the boys hushed their bickering.

“What's so funny!?” Clem demanded.

“Look at you two! You look ridiculous!”

 And he laughed some more. The boys looked at themselves, and then at each other and and let out a few chuckles of their own. Soon they were laughing riotously and flinging mud playfully at each other until even father was splattered a bit. Eventually they calmed down.

“Now, I'll tell you the story of why our village sends fighting children to wallow in the mud. Sit there and listen carefully.”

Father sat on a stump and lit his pipe.

“It was many hundreds of years ago, before your grandfather's grandfathers were even born. The villagers were constantly bickering with one another, just like you two. One man was mad about his neighbour's barking dog. Another was mad about his neighbour's goat who had gotten into his garden and eaten all his crops. There seemed to be no end to the disputes around the village. Every little thing seemed to make the people angry. And the angrier they got, the less and less it took to make them even angrier still. Soon they were falling into fist fights over a mere sneeze in the wrong direction, or a certain hair style someone didn't like, or somebody sitting in someone's chair and using their spoon at the dinner table.”

“Like Clem did to me!”

“Quiet boy, and listen.”

“Yeah, shut up, Clim!”

Father took a puff of his pipe and continued.

“One day, a shop keeper started selling red tunics, which was what they called sweaters in those days. They were very fine and comfortable, and made a person look very sharp. Once a few people had bought them, they became very popular. Soon every villager had to have one. But the tailor had only made a hundred of them before running out of red dye. So he locked his shop up and began busily working on yellow tunics because he had plenty of yellow dye left. After a few weeks, he opened his shop again and made a lot of money selling the yellow tunics. And all the people who never got to buy a red tunic, now bought a yellow one, until every villager had either a yellow or red tunic. And then the real fights began.”

“How did different colours of sweaters cause people to fight, father?” Clim asked.

“There you go again, interrupting!” Clem chided him.

“Well, now that everyone had either one colour tunic or the other, each colour began to feel like they were part of a team, and they began to ridicule and belittle and harass the people of the opposite colour. They decided that they were superior just because their tunics were dyed a certain colour, even though the tunics were exactly the same in every other way.”

“That's dumb,” Clem said.

“It is,” Father agreed. “But they didn't know it at the time. They were so used to being angry. And so tensions between the two sides mounted day after day, week after week, month after month, until one day a man with a yellow tunic became so enraged, he grabbed a hold of a man's red tunic and ripped it in half. Now, these tunics were very expensive you see, and very precious. Soon the man with the ripped red tunic and the man in yellow were scrapping full out. Then others in the town square joined in. Red people attacked yellow people, and yellow people attacked red people. It was an incredible brawl. Then people from all over the village heard the commotion and came running to see what had happened. When they say the reds attacking the yellows, they joined in, fighting, screaming, cursing, even clobbering each other with tools and furniture. Eventually the whole village was involved, and there wasn't a man woman or child who weren't attacking somebody. Even little babies in their little baby tunics were pushing and shoving each other. Many people were badly hurt, but their anger kept them coming back for another attack. The fight lasted half a day, from morning 'til supper time.”

“Wow!” Clem said. “That's way worse than me and Clim!”

“So where did the mud come in?” Clim asked.

“I was just about to get to it. You see, God looked down on the village and saw the horrible state it was in. So much anger. So much hate. So much violence. And all for nothing. So he sent a great rainfall. There was a mighty clap of thunder and the rain came pouring down like never before. But still the people fought, and now they were fighting in the mud and rain, rolling around and around, punching, scratching, pulling hair, biting, and breaking things. It was a great mess.

“But after a while, everything got so muddy, that nobody could see what colours the tunics were any more. Everything was completely covered in gray slop, even people's faces. And when they could no longer see which man was their enemy and which man was their friend, they had no choice but to stop the fighting. It was then that they realized how silly the whole fight was. There was really nothing so wrong about the other person except that they'd decided the other team was bad based on nothing more than a colour. Other than that colour, they were all exactly the same. And now that the colours were all covered up, they all stood confused, and feeling quite silly.

“After a while, the village elder started to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell over a bucket and splattered into the mud on his behind. Then he laughed some more. Soon everyone in the village was laughing until they had tears in their eyes. And they rolled around in the mud, like animals, laughing and slinging great gray glops of mud at each other, man, woman, and child. And in the end, they all went down to the great river and helped each other wash the mud off, and when each man uncovered someone with the opposite colour tunic, he gave him a big hug, tended to his new friend's wounds, and invited him to supper. Then they rebuilt the village and the elder gave a great speech about how God has show them true humility. Everyone agreed.

“Eventually the tunics were all worn out and faded away, but the story remained, as well as the tradition. And to this day, when children begin fighting, they are sent to go sit in the mud, and be drenched in it from head to toe to remind them that there is really no difference between one person and the next except the prejudices we each hold in our own minds. There has been peace in our village for over 400 years, and it's all thanks to a great rain shower that drenched us all in sloppy gray mud.

“Now do you understand why children are sent to be dunked in mud when they bicker?”

“Yes, father,” Clem admitted. He apologized to Clim. Clim apologized in return. Then they went down to the great river and helped each other wash. They hugged and promised to share their toys and food and chairs and pillows from now on.

They fought a few times in later months and years, and father always sent them back to dunk in the mud until they learned how silly it was for one person to feel like he's better than another. They eventually learned that we are all equal, especially when we're covered head to toe in icky grey mud. And when everyone is equal, there is nothing to fight over.