Everyone has a few things that they’re never gonna do. At this stage of my life, I’m fairly set on my list of things. To preface a future letter I’m mulling, I figured I’d share a few of the things that petrify me.
4. Riding a motorcycle. A few of my boys have been trying to get me on this tip for a few years. But I’m a fan of doors, four tires, seat belts and steering wheels. And before I turned 12, I saw a guy get thrown from a motorcycle in Kansas City’s Swope Park. He lived, but my desire to ride a bike died that day. Kellen Winslow’s antics a few years ago didn’t help the situation, either. Besides, I think I’m clumsy enough to do what he Winslow did.
3. Jumping out of an airplane that’s airborne. Yeah, it seems like it be a freeing experience. But I’m petrified that that parachute will malfunction and that my life will end like the dude who hijacked the president’s plane in “Air Force One.” When I “get off the plane,” I want to be able to take steps.
2. Eating peanut butter. This is the one thing I hate more than mayo and its cousins. I know, George Washington Carver would be extremely disappointed in me. I haven’t successfully swallowed peanut butter since I was five. And that was because a nursery school worker forced it on me. About 15 minutes later, I awoke from my naptime slumber, and promptly threw it up. The smell of peanut butter to this day disgusts me.
1. Tatting it up. My mom put the fear of God in me concerning tats and piercings when I was young. She told me that I’d keloid from either, and pointed it just what that meant one day. That was enough when I was 10. As I grew older, I realized that I couldn’t think of anything permanent I’d want on my person. And as this link will tell you, putting my name on myself is out of the question. More than half of my friends have one, and I have no problem with them. But I think I’d have to be passed-out drunk in a tattoo parlor before I got one. And that’s not happening anytime soon.
What’s something you won’t do?