Mule Blinders

Some things never die…they just change application. Mule blinders are one of those things.

I came by a much-used set last Saturday. They were hanging as a wall ornament in a beer and hamburger joint in Woodbine, Georgia. It’s a disgrace for a venerable, utilitarian device to be relegated to such a low-rent status. Age feels its pain of irrelevance. The owner gave them to me.

People with metaphorical minds are reckless. They can get excited by such silly things as mule blinders. They can run wild and exponentiate concepts into frightening heresies. They transcend tradition. They leap into the future, synthesizing new ideas. They explode entrenched enterprises and set on fire the course of predictability. They are perfect candidates for mule blinders.

But blinders began as a control feature for mules. The mule is a 1,000 pound brute with hot donkey blood. It’s impossible to handle if its mind gets distracted by the neighbor’s greener grass or a greater interest in the barn. It must plow its proper row, straight and narrow, no diversion, no independent thinking. Blinders keep its eyes focused on the dull duty of plowing.

Imagine if you were a mule, having to wear this medieval device. Before long you’d be in life’s proverbial rut. I know many such mules. They wear it everyday. It’s who they are, what they do, what they think. They’re Democrats or Republicans, Baptists or Lutherans, white or black, rich or poor. It keeps their eyes focused on staying in the row they’re plowing.

Once on, it’s difficult to have these blinders removed. Mules get used to them. They become like all other mules, members without distinction of the same pack. They feel good about themselves. The blinders keep them in their comfort zone. Boooooring!!

Old habits die hard. I wonder what the mule would do if, one day, a farmer led him to the field and said, “Ok, Mule, no blinders today. Plow a straight row.” Can you imagine the chaotic consequences? If not, think about what happened recently in Egypt, Syria and Libya. Or, when art moved from the rut of tradition to expansive impressionism, or analogue to digital, or smoke signals to cell phones. The list is long.

Ah, but I’m plowing in treacherous soil now. No telling what crop it’ll produce. Best put my blinders back on. Besides, Big Brother’s listening, watching. He has no blinders on and does his best to keep ours on. Orwell, where are you?

These mule blinders I found were dusty, with a rusted bit and weathered leather. They were perfect for my experiment. I intended to create the ultimate fashion statement that would make even Mr. Polo envious. They’ll be the gift of choice for all husbands whose wives have difficulty with unbridled shopping. A dumb idea, you say? Think about it.

Women in malls are highly distracted by bright lights, mirrors, colors and glitzy enchantments like jewelry. They’re a danger to themselves and a menace to others. Imagine the destruction and chaos resulting if two women happen to see the same handbag at the same time. Horrors!

Mule blinders, with some tweaking, would also be good gifts for men. Since men have rather hard heads, they could be fashioned from a used football helmet with a favorite team logo on the eye flaps, or, on the side of a baseball cap turned backwards. They’d be perfect for husbands who have eyes that wander into his neighbor’s ‘greener grass.’ It would totally eliminate the genus, Divorce Lawyers. Imagine the possibilities.

Finding the mule blinders was the best of days, and the worst of days. I showed them to Mama Gruber, our Hangar House Mother. She runs a tight operation. Seeing them, she lit up and plotted. (Maybe she’s a CIA infiltrator.) The next day she called me into her office. She fitted me with my very own pair, and shoved a rusty bit into my mouth.

I’m now back plowing my own row, eyes straight ahead and no danger to society. I dare you to remove your blinders for just one day and live dangerously.

If you do, it’s wise to keep your eyes off your neighbor’s greener grass.

Bud Hearn
September 1, 2011