Your best friend calls you and tells you he/she's really sick? How do you show you care? When I was a youngster there was a show I used to watch on TV called The Friendly Giant. What I liked best about it was when the giant played his recorder. I can remember the tune he played, and I was fascinated by the fingerings, and how he could remember all the fingerings for the different notes. At the opening of the show he would set out doll house furniture for all the guests. To us viewers at our homes it looked like regular sized furniture that we could sit in. I remember thinking that if I were ever a guest of the giant I would want to sit on the sofa and curl up in front of the fire.<br/> <br/> Once the giant had played his theme song and set out the furniture it was time for a story. There is one story that I can still remember to this day. I think there was a slight variation of the story in the Brother&#39;s Grimm, or at least in the movie that came out a little later, in &quot;Cinerama&quot; a wide screen format. The story the giant told was about a barber who lived in a kingdom ruled by Tsar Trojan. He made a decent living cutting the hair of the common folk, and was content with his lot. Some of the other barber&#39;s dreamed that they could make a lot of money if they could be chosen to cut the hair of Tsar Trojan. The barber wasn&#39;t so sure, though, because all of the barbers who had ever been chosen to cut Tsar Trojan&#39;s hair had disappeared, as if they had fallen off the face of the earth. The barber therefore didn&#39;t seek out Tsar Trojan&#39;s men and try to tout himself as a great barber. Nevertheless, though he didn&#39;t seek to put himself forward as the person to cut Tsar Trojan&#39;s hair, that day came anyway. The Tsar&#39;s men came knocking on his barber shop door.<br/> <br/> Reluctantly, but hiding his reluctance well, the barber came to the palace of Tsar Trojan with his scissors. He told himself to be very careful not to say anything or do anything that might bring down the wrath of Tsar Trojan. He was brought in to see Tsar Trojan, who was seated in his throne, wearing, not a crown, but a battle helmet. The barber most humbly asked him to remove the helmet so he could begin. Once Tsar Trojan had done so the clever barber understood immediately why the Tsar had been so hesitant to do so. The Tsar Trojan had the most remarkable ears, the kind of ears you would see on a goat. It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting out with laughter, but he held his tongue, mindful of the fate of so many of his fellow barbers. No, they had not moved to the big city and retired on their earning as some of the more optimistic barbers had hoped. They were either chained up in a deep dungeon somewhere, rotting away their miserable lives, or more likely, buried deep in some unmarked grave. The barber gave his best haircut, making sure not to laugh.<br/> <br/> When it was over Tsar Trojan looked himself over in the mirror and was very pleased with the results. The ruler then probed into the question of what had the barber seen? How likely was the barber to say anything? &quot;Did you notice anything unusual while you were cutting my hair?&quot; asked Tsar Trojan. The barber assured him that he had seen nothing out of the ordinary, except that Tsar Trojan was an exceptionally handsome man. The barber was not only skilled at cutting hair, he was also a gifted flatterer. You might think the moral of this story is that one should never lie, but I assure you, I would never give such potentially fatal advice. The barber was very wise to hold his tongue and offer flattery. Tsar Trojan paid him well. He had never seen wages like this. Tsar Trojan told him to return in six weeks for another hair cut.<br/> <br/> This went on for quite some time, and the barber was becoming quite wealthy. But something troubled him. Something kept him from enjoying his dreams at night. It was the secret he kept. He was dying to tell it to somebody. He wanted to shout &quot;Tsar Trojan has goat ears&quot; to the from the rooftops, and disturb the entire town with this revelation. Wisely, though, he held his tongue. He knew that to do so would be to court certain death.<br/> <br/> Just to get it off his chest, though, he dug a deep, deep hole. He stuck his head down deep in the hole and whispered, very quietly, &quot;Tsar Trojan has goat ears.&quot; It was as if a big weight had been lifted off of him. He rejoiced in his new found peace of mind and knew that he could face the Tsar&#39;s next haircut reinvigorated. He looked forward to it, and the money wasn&#39;t bad, either.<br/> <br/> Now the day had come and he was once again ushered into the Tsar&#39;s chambers. He quickly went to work, and when he was done he told himself that this was the best hair cut he had ever done. He was admiring his work when all of a sudden a messenger burst through the doors bearing a terrible message. A shepherd had fashioned a flute from a reed he had found growing nearby. When he tried to play a tune, all that would come out was a little sing songy tune that said &quot;Tsar Trojan has goat ears.&quot; The tune, in spite of, or perhaps, because it was so simple, was devilishly catchy. The children had picked it up, and it was spreading. Everywhere you went in Tsar Trojan&#39;s kingdom it could now be heard. The messenger had not wanted to tell Tsar Trojan, but had been forced to, due to the gravity of the situation.<br/> <br/> As you might well imagine, I was enthralled by this tale, and connected the recorder, played by The Friendly Giant, with the flute fashioned from a reed by the shepherd. I don&#39;t even remember what happened to the barber. But I often think of the goat ears of Tsar Trojan. I think about them when I want to post something in my blog, some juicy bit of scandal that could destroy a career, whether true or false, once the rumor gets going. I think about it when I am about to confess some embarrassing personal detail. I think about it when I want to express a political opinion. I think about Tsar Trojan&#39;s goat ears whenever I carelessly pull the trigger and post a blog or send an email. It doesn&#39;t always stop me from being reckless, but it slows me down. I try to make it a habit and a policy not to post anything when it is late at night, or if I have been drinking (just thought of a word for drunk blogging: grogging). I like to wait at least a day and check it for ticks before I release any feral writing into the wild.<br/> <br/> But I just finished this, and I am pretty sure there is nothing in it that could get me into trouble, so here it goes. Hope you like it.<br/> <br/> Sincerely,<br/> <br/> Chris Craddock<br/> REALTOR(R)<br/> <br/> The Key to Bakersfield Real Estate<br/> <br/> Cell: (661) 900-2222<br/> Email: Craddock55@GMail.com<br/> <br/> Miramar International, Downtown<br/> 1712 19th St, #220<br/> Bakersfield, CA 93301<br/>

Chris Craddock

Chris R Craddock is a Bakersfield Real Estate Agent from San Jose

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