Rules and Risks

What happens when good judgment takes a hike

One of my favorite TV shows growing up was called “Romper Room.” It featured a catchy tune urging kids to be a good “Do Bee,” and not a “Don’t Bee.” The song begins with, “I always do what’s right, I never do anything wrong,” and goes on to encourage viewers to play on the sidewalk (never the street), clean their plates and have good manners. When my mother called me a good “Do Bee,” which she did often, that was all the affirmation I needed.

Romper Room is long gone, but I still try to obey most rules. I make it a point to drive within seven or eight miles of the speed limit. I turn on my headlights when my wipers are on (New York State law), use my turn signals and wear a seat belt 100 percent of the time. I return shopping carts to the designated area in supermarket parking lots, and wouldn’t dream of parking in a handicapped spot. If a sign in a store says restrooms are for customers only, and I am not a legitimate customer, my bladder and I will go someplace else. And if I have an adult beverage, I always heed the admonition on the label to please drink responsibly.

This is not to suggest that I am a better person than you, or that I don’t have my share of shortcomings. I floss sporadically at best. I have been known to roll corn on the cob on a stick of butter. I don’t rotate my tires nearly enough, and after 36 years of marriage, I sometimes disregard my wife’s preference that I refrain from taking a slug of orange juice from the container.

On the whole, though, I would rate myself a mostly rule-abiding, even cautious, citizen. This is why my recent Weekend of Living Dangerously was so not in my playbook.