It’s a wonder I survived my childhood.
I almost drowned a couple of times. Once, in the ocean off Laguna Beach in 1968, I got wiped out by a wave while body surfing and just didn’t come up… for a long time. Scared the shit out of me.
I never broke any limbs but I did taste bug spray once. You know, just to see what it taste like. It doesn’t taste good.
Thank you, evolution.
I never rode in a car seat. I never wore a seat belt until I was in High School and driving on my own. I never wore a helmet while riding a bike or skateboarding or tree climbing or getting the crap beat out of me by some huge 6th grader that didn’t like the way I tied my shoes.
Yet, I survived. With some slight brain damage. But I survived.
Of course, with my own girls I made them wear seat belts and helmets. But, in the back of my mind, I wonder if they’re overly reliant on safety measures. I know for a fact my oldest daughter will not eat anything that’s sat out overnight. She quotes me chapter and verse on bacteria counts and mold colonies. Me? I know from vast experience that pizza doesn’t really go bad for at least three days. How do I know this? I’ve eaten four day old pizza. And I’ve paid the price.
I learned from personal experience. My kids learned from virtual experience. I learned not to eat bug spray because it tastes bad. They learned not to eat bug spray because,… well, because there was never a can of bug spray within three miles of them.
Now, I’m worried they’ll taste bug spray because they never got a chance to as kids. Girls, please don’t taste bug spray. It’s not a good idea.