I’m going to tell you a story that is completely true, and not fabricated in any way, shape or form. I say this because I hope to pass on a couple simple lessons that I was taught as a kid. I know at this moment you don’t want to read any further because you think for the next couple hundred words I’m going to spread my garbage opinion, and how special I am to have it. Well, to put your mind at ease I will not be doing that. I hold the belief that it’s not the opinion that’s important, but that actions are what should be used to express your convictions. Okay, that was my only opinion I will be sharing, and you can take it or leave it, doesn’t matter to me. It’s a free country which I’m still very proud of. Now on to the story!

I was privileged to be raised in the part of the country where it snows more than half of the year, and Dunkin Donuts coffee rules the world. Whenever it snowed I would trudge outside in my overall snow pants, heavy winter coat, boots, and gloves. I closely resembled the kid from the Christmas story who fell down, and couldn’t get up because of the weight of his clothes. Regardless, most of my days playing in the snow blend together except for one significant afternoon. I was outside with a neighborhood buddy sledding down a little hill in our yard right next to our house. At this time in my life at the grand old age of 12 I had picked up a nice dirty little habit. I loved to swear. I couldn’t get enough of it. I would curse with my buddies at lunch, all my jokes involved dirty language, and I would swear in front of the mirror because why not? I could.

It happened to be that particular day I was in one of those moods, making up stories and jokes that mainly consisted of swearing. My buddy was getting a kick out of it, and after every time down the hill I would come up with some new way to swear. I thought I was the funniest dude in the world. Little did I know, my demise was a mere inch away. My dear mother, for some atrocious reason, decided to leave the window open on the coldest day of the year (where if a gust of wind swept past your ear it would cause immediate frost bit), and sit next to it. To this day I have no idea why because she is always cold. It still baffles me even more than a decade later. Well my mother heard words come out of my mouth that she hadn’t even uttered in years. She was shocked because her innocent little boy’s vocabulary resembled that of a Boston shipyard worker during a vices binge, upset because the Sox lost again. She called my father, crouching by the window, and told him everything I was saying. A couple hours later my dad pulls into the driveway, goes inside, and my mother opens the front door. When she opened the front door it was like the pit of hell had opened up. The wind whipped by her, causing her hair to stand on end; the heat emitted from the door, making everything within a ten mile radius melt; and the voice that came from my mother calling me by my first name caused me to pee and crap my pants at the same time. It was not a joyful sight.

I was grounded, as you can imagine, and forced to endure things I still cannot fully comprehend. I did learn a couple valuable lessons that day. My parents didn’t think I’d learn from that near death experience, but I did. Be aware of your surroundings, learn as much as you can about them, do not think you know it all, and be open to learning- like how your mother might leave the window open on the coldest day of the year.