I fell into the yard, my flimsy tennis shoes wrapped in plastic bags and secured with duct tape. The great Chattanooga blizzard had almost abated, but the snow remained deep on the ground. The cold air filled my lungs and stung every inch of exposed skin. My parents were stuck out of town during the state basketball tournament, and my three sisters and I had a babysitter staying with us. She went to our church and had known my parents for years. We had enough food to last us a while and our family had enough sleeping bags and blankets to ensure we didn't freeze. We also had a fireplace in the living room, but no wood. Tracy, our babysitter, approached me one day while I was reading a book by the window. “Jeff,” she said, “Do you know how to chop wood?” The correct answer to that question was no, because I had only handed logs to my father and seen him knock them in half with one blow. vicious. I tried once, but I couldn't swing the heavy maul hard enough to break a splinter. “Of course,” I replied. "How much do you need?" I knew full well that it would be extremely unmanly to admit that I couldn't break a log in half, and the realization that she probably could have done it never occurred to me. struck. I trudged back to my room with a painful sense of duty, like a soldier going on a suicide mission to save his brothers. I let my babysitter tie the bags to my feet, imagining her as my page readying my trusty sword before battle. “Just scream if you need help, you hear?” she said to me as I walked towards the door. I dismissed this as foolish chatter, because everyone knew that only men could chop wood. I walked across the yard, head bowed, snowflakes blowing in my eyes and the cold wind biting my nose. The large logs were stored under the deck and the boards were very high, which allowed me to cut the wood without having to stand in the snow. I got a log into place, not without a lot of difficulty, but I figured the log wouldn't be so unpleasant once I broke it into small pieces..