Why advisors get grey hair

Here's at least one reason why...

For the record, while I was down in the fellowship hall of the Masonic Temple taking tickets for our group's spaghetti supper, two of my young charges (who had said they were going out to walk the streets of the town promoting the meal) were, in fact, hanging their feet off the fourth-story roof of the building, holding up their sign for the crowds gathered for the parade to see. (The shot was captured by a photographer for the town newspaper.)

I never heard about it, of course - until the fellow on the right (a normally sane and rational young man) emailed me with a "see the cool picture in our local paper?" note.

Of course, I'm fifty - so my first thought was, Oh, my God - what if they fell? What if that 100-year-old mortar let loose, and dumped their brains onto the sidewalk? How the hell did they get up there, in the first place? How the hell does this happen? I'll kick their teenaged butts right into orbit!! Thoughts of funerals, police inquiries, and insurance adjusters raced through my head.

Then I thought, almost in the same instant, This is the stuff that memories are made of. Being crazy. Being wild. Taking risks. It's about being 15 and bulletproof. Just like you were. Relax. And I was reminded of a guy who regularly does things like parasailing and jumping out of airplanes that are still running, who said, "I'd much rather have a short and amazing life, than get to the end of my life and realize that I'd never actually lived."

So when I see them on Thursday, I will tell them that it was a nice photograph.

And that if they do it again, they won't have to worry about the fall killing them, because I will, first.

/sigh/

I am becoming my father and mother.

When you fall off that swing and break your arms and legs, don't come running to me. (Erma Bombeck's mother, to her as a child)