Scratchin’ the Itch & Lookin’ for the Edge

Do you remember “edgy”?

You know, the behavior you were frequently engaged in when you were young.

There was the time you showed up to Thanksgiving high on supreme-quality-sticky-ass bud. Your mother was horrified, but your brother thought it was funny.

What about the night you fondled your sweetheart under a blanket while you sat, with her family in the room, watching Wheel of Fortune?

And then there was the time you rode your motorcycle 100 miles in an hour and 15 minutes because someone bet you a case of beer you couldn’t do it.

Tattoos were applied with a dirty needle, ears pierced with equipment swiped from your mother’s sewing kit.

If “normal” people were into it, you despised it, whatever “it” might be. You openly mocked convention. Along the way, you drove some from you; the timid and the weak. At the same time, you brought together others; the angry, the confused, and the criminals. You were offensive, scary, dangerous and cool. And you apologized for none of it. You were desperate, and proud. You were a punk in the best sense of the word.

So, what happened?

I suppose I got old. I got responsibility. At some point (and I don’t remember the exact moment) it became easier to slow-down. I began to think, right or wrong, it was smarter to fit in, not cause a ruckus, follow the rules. After all, I’ve got a mortgage to pay, a kid to get through school and a boss who enjoys thinking he and his, have broken me.

So, what now?

Now, I wait.