Back in the 1970\u2019s I sustained a serious back injury that compressed four of my lumbar vertebrae, reducing my height by nearly two inches.\u00a0 During recovery, I lay in a hospital bed, my self-pity fanned by the sympathy expressed by my family and friends, my every whim catered to by eager nurses.<\/p>\n
One morning a shorter friend named Nigel, who I hadn\u2019t yet seen, walked in and sat down in the vacant chair beside the bed.\u00a0 I turned to him, anticipating a stern faced nod of greeting, followed by softly spoken words of comfort.\u00a0 Instead, Nigel held two flat hands toward me, then drew them about two inches toward each other before bursting into laughter so strenuous tears he actually shed tears.\u00a0 On recovering, he chuckled, \u201cDo that again, and we\u2019ll see eye to eye<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n In response, I shook my head and frowned.\u00a0 Ignoring my glare, Nigel added, \u201cThere\u2019s a life lesson in this \u2013 you have to be able to laugh at other peoples\u2019 misfortune<\/em>.\u201d\u00a0 I had difficulty accepting his words.<\/p>\n About six weeks later, with my injury preventing me taking my place in our hunting team, opportunity opened for my younger brother to assume my role as spotter.\u00a0 He jumped at the chance.\u00a0 Nigel, the leader of this particular foray, handed his beloved BSA Model 12 sliding block .22 target rifle to my brother to carry to the car.\u00a0 Inexperienced in the handling of rifles, my young brother took the rifle, holding it in the way rifles are commonly held \u2013 left hand on the front stock, right on the butt, finger through the trigger guard.\u00a0 He smiled in appreciation as he hefted the beautiful little rifle, and promptly shot Nigel through his left foot.<\/p>\n Standing on the veranda, I watched the incident unfold, saw Nigel collapse to the ground, and listened to a stream of creative invective until my elder brothers loaded Nigel in the car and drove him to hospital.\u00a0 I stayed behind with my younger brother, now persona-non-grata, and shame-faced at his accidental discharge.\u00a0 Though we discussed the incident, we didn\u2019t discuss Nigel\u2019s culpability, or stupidity, in handing over a loaded and cocked weapon.\u00a0 Instead, we focused on the real lesson \u2013 that firearms should always be considered loaded, and unsafe.<\/p>\n The next day I hobbled into hospital on my crutches.\u00a0 Nigel lay in bed, bandaged foot elevated.\u00a0 Hearing the tap tap of my crutches, he woke up, grimaced in a manly fashion, and generally behaved about the same as I had during my stay in the very same hospital ward a few weeks earlier.\u00a0 After pursing my lips and nodding in apparent stern faced sympathy, I burst into laughter before saying, \u201cYou have to be able to laugh at other peoples\u2019 misfortune<\/em>.\u201d\u00a0 Nigel didn\u2019t seem to appreciate the humor.<\/p>\n This is a true story.\u00a0 During the course of my life, I\u2019ve collected thousands of itty-bits of wisdom, many of which hold little more than superficial truth.\u00a0 However, all of them hold value, even if that value is restricted to contemplating how foolish some sayings really are.\u00a0 At the time, I had difficulty accepting Nigel\u2019s words could ever hold value, yet on that one occasion, they felt appropriate \u2013 beware the seeds you sow, lest you reap Karma\u2019s reward.<\/p>\n