A Life of Danger

All of my life I've been a cautious, rules-oriented, color-within-the-lines sort of soul. So, now, facing 50, it's kind of a revelation to look back and realize that really, I've lived a life of incredible danger.

I grew up drinking whole-fat milk at every meal (the Dutch legacy--milk and cheese were big) and eating red meat at least once a day. We'd pour spoonfuls of sugar onto our already sweetened cereal and shake layers of salt onto our canned vegetables.

I didn't have a car seat; as a toddler I sat on the arm rest next to my mom and when she braked suddenly she'd put out her arm to block me from flying through the wind shield. (To this day, Mom flings out her right arm when coming to a sudden stop while driving.) When I was older, I romped around the back seat; using a seat belt was unheard of. Bike helmets? I don't think we knew they existed. (Did they?)

And by the time I was 4, it was common, in fact expected, that I'd disappear from home for hours on end. We frequently went exploring in the woods behind our house that led up and beyond the interstate highway--which we ran across without much thought. We also never gave a thought to the signs screaming WARNING: HEALTH HAZARD: NO SWIMMING that were posted along the stream that ran through the fields below. We couldn't see any health hazards so we thought the signs were silly. Into the stream we'd plunge, the same stream that came running out of Argonne National Laboratories (you may have heard of Argonne; big name in the development of atomic and then nuclear weapons).

On summer nights we'd listen for the telltale rumble of the mosquito truck, and once we heard it we'd all run out, jump on our bikes, and peddle like mad to catch up with the sweet-smelling, cough-inducing cloud of poison.

On Halloween we headed out as soon as we could get off the school bus and into our costumes; we'd tumble back home around 10 pm, exhausted, streaked with chocolate, (no one told us an adult should check out our candy before we ate it; I doubt if any adult in our lives realized they were supposed to do such a thing), our costumes ripped from climbing fences and jumping culverts. Sometimes grown-ups would drive by and see us, slogging on home with our bulging bags of candy, and they'd offer us rides, which we gratefully accepted. Strangers. In cars. And in we'd pile.

Good lord. Where were our parents?

Inside. Drinking martinis. Playing pinochle. Watching Gunsmoke. Living adult lives completely separate from our own.

Bizarre. Tempting, but bizarre.