I have my quirks. I have to go to sleep on my right side. I always eat one thing at a time on my plate, and no mixing of food, unless it's mashed potatoes and corn. And, I always, ALWAYS look down before I sit my butt somewhere. This comes from advice my dad gave me when I was about nine.
"Tory," he said, in his best "Ward Cleaver" voice, "no matter what, son, always look before you sit."
"Don't you mean look before you leap, pop?"
"Nope," he said, smiling. "Sometimes half the fun of leaping is not knowing where you're going to land. But, looking before you sit can save your ass. Sometimes literally."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
At this point, he launched into a story about when he was in Viet Nam. Now, he swore up until his dying day that this story was true, and it never got "bigger" whenever he told it, so I'm inclined to believe him. He was one of the top officers in a fire base outside of Da Nang. One night, he was just settling into his rack when an explosion sounded near his quarters. He jumped up, grabbed his boots and his .45 and went running outside in his Army-issued t-shirt and boxers.
He came up to a private standing in front of some smoking remains. The private looked like he was covered from head to toe in mud. "Private!" dad yelled. "What happened?" By the this time other soldiers were around, many looking off into the night waiting for an attack. The private didn't say a word, just kept staring at the smoldering wood in front of him.
"PRIVATE!" dad barked. I know that tone well. That was his "pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to me now" tone. The private turned and looked and realized that Captain LaPrath was standing in front of him. "What happened?" dad asked again.
"S-s-sir," the private stammered. "I went to use the latrine, sir." Dad cocked an eyebrow at the private. "I opened the door, sir, and a cobra stuck its head out of the hole sir." About this time, the wind shifted, and dad realized that the private was NOT covered in mud.
"What did you do, son?" dad asked. He looked at the private's bandoleer, and noticed an empty spot where a grenade should have been.
"I fragged its ass, sir. I hate snakes!" The kid had blown the shit out of the latrine. Literally.
At this point, dad was trying his hardest not to laugh. He wound up giving the private a month on latrine duty. However, dad said, ever since then, he always checked the area he was about to park his butt after that. And now, I do too. I'll pass this story along to the boys, it's too good not to, but I'll also impart some of their late grandfather's wisdom as well. After all, the ass you save will more than likely be your own.
