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Cheap Lessons

John W. Pinkerton

oldjwpinkerton@gmail.com


We have all done something incredibly stupid…which didn't kill us or maim us.  After surviving the experience unharmed, we promised ourselves we would never  do that again.  I refer to this as a “cheap lesson.”


I think my earliest cheap lesson involved electricity.  I was about six years old; we had just moved to a different house where I awoke in the morning staring up at an empty socket of a light which was attached to the headboard.


I wondered what would happen if I stuck my finger into the empty socket.  After this brief thought, I, of course, stuck my finger in the socket.  I immediately regretted my decision and learned a cheap lesson: electricity has the capacity to hurt and/or kill.  The lesson was learned well and later in life when I wired our old house, not once did I shock myself.  Now, I blew up a lot of stuff, but never seriously shocked myself.


I think my second cheap lesson involved fireworks.  What I learned was that not all fuses are created equal.  After lighting and tossing a half dozen firecrackers successfully, one went off while I was still holding it.  My tossing timing had not changed, but the fuse's timing had.  Of course, it hurt like Hell, but I didn't lose any digits---cheap lesson.  That experience kinda put me off fireworks altogether, and I realized that the principle learned was “not-all-fuses-are-equal,” which, I realized, could also be applied to people.


My third cheap lesson experience involved exploring under an old wooden bridge and my head.  After climbing under the bridge, I raised my head rapidly encountering total resistance from a bridge support.  I didn't pass out and although I may have lost a few brain cells, I survived the experience and learned that bumping one's head cannot only cause pain, it can also cause brain damage---cheap lesson…just a few brain cells.


All of these experiences occurred in my early elementary years, and I got better at projecting the results of my contemplated actions.


However, about the time I was seventeen, I decided to see if I could drive my dad's Mercury “120” miles per hour.  The motivation was that it was clearly printed on the speedometer: 120.  At 119 I felt the wheels and the wet highway slightly separate from their grasp on each other.  That was enough to cause me to immediately decelerate and contemplate what I had just done.  I never did it again, and have since this cheap  lesson, might be described as a cautious driver.


Now, of course, these aren't the only cheap lessons I learned in my early years, but we're not going to talk about some of the ridiculous things I've done.  Some are just off-limits.  A man deserves to have a few secrets.


As the years have passed, I judge that my ability to project the potential for disastrous results of my actions has improved, and, by the way, my physical movement becoming more slothful which I think has helped immensely.

enough