Err...On Caution's Side

Dad always tells me to be careful.
Ever the desperate, chronic worrier, he used to watch me cross the street from Shandera's house.
Inspiring when I'm six, it got less normal by the time I was in junior high.
Whenever he says it, I provide him time and again with the same reminder:
"I'm always careful."
I always have been cautious.
Other words that you may want to substitute here would be...timid.
Frightened.
Nervous.
Anxious.
Going home now.
All of those work.
That's why, after Dennis and Pete had finished building the ramp, I would always go last.
Didn't matter what the ramp was for.
Bicycle. GT Sno Racer. Water skiing pyramid.
Whatever.
It took later in life to realize that I missed some things earlier in life.
Most of those things were injuries.
But with that, perhaps a certain resolve.
A steeling of myself while hauling out the splinter.
A certain sense of risk that many people might take for granted.
These days I'm getting better.
Cooking helped.
When you burn your knuckle on the stupid toaster conveyor after making your tenth clubhouse of the night, you begin not to notice.
At one time, I had decided that I wanted to cook at the hotel.
Initially, I did it while I wasn't supposed to as a dishwasher.
If I could keep the staff in plates while also making grilled ham and cheese for them...
...Why not braise lamb shanks for some German snowboarding families?
Really, I just wanted an excuse to buy the knives.
Andrew taught me how to chop.
If you want to begin cooking in an environment full of pro cooks and expensive food, initiative can't hurt.
So, we used to practice in the staff accomodation lounge.
On the washer and dryer.
We eventually had to stop when people complained about carrot peel on their clothes.
Which is fair. No one wants that.
Anyway, one time I was dicing this onion.
And Andrew, between beer swigs, was saying, "Oh man, watch it," and so on.
Cause I didn't know what I was doing, and I was doing it with something extremely sharp.
Finally he said, "I think you're going to cut yourself on this one."
I looked at him, paused, then continued.
Marking the first time that I ever willingly put myself into the path of an injury.
Many have come and gone since then; I spent a summer working with dad.
I didn't cut myself on that day.

I climbed my first tree (ever) last year.
Neil convinced me to join him at the top.
And sure, as I continuted to find footing and gain altitude, I envisioned falling.
Doing a Plinko on every branch on the way down.
But, like the onion, I didn't fall that day.
And man oh man. What a view.