This column appeared here in May 1995.
Nothing blurs the distinctions separating prudence and recklessness like the death by folly of someone young. When the old die by recklessness, we shake our heads and in summation declare Aunt Ruth should never have taken up jai alai. When the young precede us, we cast about for answers that will protect our surviving young from themselves.
There is a fundamental flaw in all our flailing. Prudence is for sissies. Reck is the stuffing in old duffers. I鈥檓 no sissy and I ain鈥檛 no duffer. I鈥檓 still young. I鈥檓 still cool.
When I hear the younger guys talking about snowboarding in avalanche country, I inhale through my nostrils, hitch up my britches and reach deep into my pockets to jingle my keys. You boys ain鈥檛 seen nothing. I鈥檓 the poster boy for fearlessnesshood. I鈥檓 the double-dog dare you churning urn of burning funk.
You see, I have only one set of keys. I drive around without a spare tire. The batteries are dead in my glove box flashlight. I listen to AM radio. I know objects in my mirror are closer than they appear, and, frankly, I don鈥檛 care.
I鈥檝e run with scissors, and I鈥榲e ridden escalators without using my hands. I鈥檝e hailed harried waitresses with a snap of my fingers and lived to tell about it. I鈥檝e let the door hit me on the ass on the way out. I鈥檝e gone where only the authorized can go. I鈥檝e entered where others dared not, and I鈥檝e taken the road less traveled with only a quarter tank of gas and no road map.
I鈥檝e leaped before I鈥檝e looked and worked without a net. I鈥檝e ignored the small print. A time or two, I have stumbled across the truth, but I鈥檝e managed to get up quickly, as if nothing happened. I鈥檝e counted my chickens before they鈥檝e hatched. I鈥檝e played with fire and with knives, and I鈥檝e put my head in the mouth of my mother-in-law.
I鈥檝e taken the bull by the tail and faced the situation. I鈥檝e been in rock fights within my glass house. I鈥檝e been to sea in a sieve, carried too much sail, ridden at single anchor, been out of my depth and between the devil and a deep blue Scandinavian. With a candle lit a both ends, I鈥檝e leaped into the dark with my heart on my sleeve and leaned against a broken reed while I bought a pig in a poke from a man with a silver tooth.
I鈥檝e ignored the way the road slopes, the land lies and the wind blows. There is a time for every season and for every activity under the heavens, but I don鈥檛 wear my watch. I鈥檝e let the shoe drop only to discover I鈥檓 wearing red pumps.
I spend more than I make because credit limits make the world go round. I print new money in ATMs every chance I get. I balance a bicycle on the end my nose more often than I balance my checkbook.
I鈥檝e hung by the skin of my teeth, by my thumbs, by assorted danglia. I鈥檝e been right. I鈥檝e been wrong. I鈥檝e been to Wikieup, Arizona. I bought my wife a handgun for our anniversary.
No fear here, dude.
Thank you, dear readers.