Today I want to talk about genes. No, not the blue ones with the rivets, the ones in your DNA. We’ll save the discussion about denim for another time…even though I think my genes make it hard for me to fit into my jeans…clever, eh. Back to science. According to my deep research into the subject on Wikipedia, the leading source for all information for gullible people, I found that genes are the blueprint on how we are built. They determine your height, eye color, build, if you’re balding (thanks dad for that gift) and so much of what we are. As a result of all the knowledge I have accumulated in the last 15 minutes of research, I now consider myself a leading geneticist. That’s the person who really knows about genes. A tailor is the person that takes care of the other jeans, like making them skinny jeans. What’s with that?
There is one gene I want to focus on today, the fear gene. That is the one which makes sure the human race continues to exist by not killing ourselves off doing stupid things. What brought this to mind, I was reading a story about the famous stunt man, coordinator and movie director Hal Needham. He is best known for his collaborations with Burt Renyolds in such films as Smokey and the Bandit, Cannonball Run and Hooper. Now there’s some classic cinema. Martin Scorsese, eat your heart out. Needham was famous for attempting outrageous stunts for the films he worked on and some just in an effort to maim his body.
The article went back to a time in the early 1970s when Needham attempted to jump a car across a small creek in the Thousand Oaks area north of Los Angeles. Why? Not quite sure but the stunt failed and he broke his back. Did he stop trying crazy things as a result? No, he doubled down and had a long career of trying to kill himself and the stunt people who worked for him, just to make movies.
In real life, a guy like that might get arrested for the abuse he inflicted on his employees but these folks were all in. Why?
This is where my long experience in genetics comes into play. I believe that there is a “fear” gene and all these folks are missing it. A few more examples of people who seem to be missing this “fear” gene include Evil Knievel, all astronauts, Tom Cruise (have you seen some of the idiotic stunts he has done for his movies…including hanging from a plane taking off), ski jumpers, any baseball players who stay in the batter’s box when some young phenom is throwing a 100 mph fastball at his head and, my middle son.
My middle son is one of those people who will attempt any death defying activity and I think it’s because of the lack of a “fear” gene and also, he believes he is the forgotten son. I have three sons and he thinks by being the middle one he is ignored and needs to bring attention to himself. I would have mentioned his name, but I forgot it. I’m sure it’s in my contact list somewhere.
What makes his outlandish effort to injure himself even worse, he grew up as the smallest guy in all the activities he participated in. When he was only 6 years old, while playing for the championship in his baseball league, he was put at catcher and told “Don’t stand behind the plate. Let the pitch come, hit the backstop and then pick it up and throw it back to the dad who was the pitcher.”
He was put in this position not to get hurt. In the last inning, the batter hit a sharp ground ball to our shortstop, the runner on third headed home, the coaches yelled at the shortstop to throw to first but instead she (yes a girl and the best player on the team) threw it home because my son decided to block the plate and tag the runner. He caught the ball, performed a perfect block of the plate, the much larger runner hit him like a freight train and he was tossed all the way to the backstop like a rag doll. From this pile, his arm shot up with the ball in his hand and the umpire called the runner out. That ended the game and won the championship for his team. He was carried off the field by the coaches. At first, I thought they were carrying his lifeless body off the field.
This story repeated itself over and over during this pursuit of athletics. Always the smallest guy. Always the guy not afraid to take a hit. Always the guy having his lifeless body carried from the field. He played high school football when he was 4’ 7″ and 70 pounds and wasn’t afraid to lay a lick on an opposing player and also go across the middle to catch a pass knowing some linebacker was ready to crush him.
It’s hard to believe that “what’s his name” survived into his mid-thirties. You would think that a gene might mutate and make him more cautious but NO! On a regular basis he sends me pictures of himself jumping out of planes, swimming with sharks or playing tackle football without pads. Thank goodness I’m not responsible for his health insurance.
As for me, I think I have a couple of fear genes, my son’s and mine. I’m the kind of guy who yells “We’re all going to die,” when my flight hits some turbulence…then wet my jeans.
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