North Star Writers Group

I was sitting in my living room the other day doing nothing and enjoying every minute of it when it suddenly occurred to me that there are still quite a few things I haven’t done in my 67 years on this wildly spinning orb we call home.

I’m not talking about world-shaking events like scaling Mt. Everest, or bowling a perfect 300 game.

I’m talking about less-spectacular accomplishments like buying a one-size-fits-all clothing item that actually fits me and spelling the word “saxaphone” . . . er. . . “saxophone” correctly on the first try.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve accomplished plenty in my lifetime, but certain things others take for granted have somehow eluded me all these years.

Once that thought hit me, I quickly grabbed a notepad and pencil so I could jot down all of the things I’ve never done.

Within a few minutes, my list looked like this:

THINGS BOB WANTS TO DO

Get a tattoo.

Dunk a basketball.

Take karate lessons.

Read all of Herman Melville’s novel “Moby Dick”.

Catch a muskellunge.

Grow parsnips in his backyard garden.

Kiss a frog.

Touch a wall or door bearing a sign warning “WET PAINT.”

Memorize the last four digits of his Social Security number.

Talk really loud in a library.

By the time my wife Sally walked into the house two hours later, my list had grown even longer.

“I’ve made a New Year’s resolution,” I told my wife.

“In July?” she asked.

“It’s never too late to make positive changes to your life,” I said. “There are lots of things I’ve never done . . . and now I’m going to change all that. Isn’t that a neat idea?”

“Peachy,” she replied, disappearing into another room.

Buoyed by her unbridled enthusiasm for my project, I went to the top of my list, checked the item and picked up the telephone.

An hour later, I walked into a tattoo parlor. “I want a tattoo,” I told the man behind the counter. He smiled and ushered me into the back room.

“What kind of tattoo did you have in mind?” he asked.

“I want something bold that personifies my daring, devil-may-care attitude about all things, including life,” I replied. Then I added, “I’d like it to be tasteful, though.”

Two hours later I made my choice.

Sometime next week I’m going to get the tattoo. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be the only guy in Brookville with the message “BORN TO RAISE HECK” emblazoned on his arm.

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