Mike Maddock I am starting to wonder if God gives us the instinctual ability to watch where we’re going or if it’s something we learn through experience. Personally, I learned one extremely painful lesson at a very young age on Ocean Boulevard in Myrtle Beach.

One summer, back when I was still wearing cut–off Wranglers and a Planet of the Apes T–shirt, I was walking south on Ocean Boulevard trying to keep up with my uncle and my dad while keeping an eye on Frankenstein and various other monsters across the street at Ripley’s Believe It or Not. For some strange reason, I did not run into one single pedestrian on that crowded sidewalk with my head at a complete right angle from the rest of my body. As I got closer to Ripley’s, my full attention was on Frankenstein waving at me…not on the pole directly in my path.

I can’t remember where my dad and uncle were or why they didn’t warn me, but I have vivid memories of that wooden telephone pole slamming into the side of my face while the crowd of people on the street gave a collective grimace, and Frankenstein and his monster buddies said, “Ooooohhhhh”. For once, I guess somebody scared them.

Ripley’s Believe It or Not is still there along with a piece of my face permanently attached to that pole.

I learned a couple of things that day. The first thing was Frankenstein has no business waving to little kids on Ocean Boulevard, and the second was to watch where I was going. Of course, I still run into things, but it’s usually not because of Frankenstein.

Unfortunately, my son seems to have inherited my keen sense of direction, and he doesn’t need a monstrous distraction to cause him problems. Of all the traits to inherit, he gets the one that runs him into inanimate objects, and he doesn’t seem to be learning from it. To his credit, I was about six–years–old when I ran into my life–changing pole. He isn’t three yet, but if he keeps running into things at this pace, he’ll be wearing a permanent helmet by the time he turns six.

His friends and fans of the Flintstones will call him “Kazoo.” It will be a terrible way to go through life. I’m sure Frankenstein and his buddies are still talking about the kid in the monkey shirt whose face planted into a Myrtle Beach telephone pole.

My son will just have to learn the hard way. I just hope I can afford the insurance.

Last weekend, my two daughters and my son were hiking with me on a trail in our neighborhood. My daughters came flying by egging my son into a game of chase. He took off after them, but instead of watching the trail or even the girls, he decided to run full sprint looking backwards at me. He never saw the tree, but I suspect he’ll remember it.

Some lessons are harder than others, and unfortunately, so are some trees. My son will have a bruise on his face for the next few weeks, but he’ll have to live with my legacy until he figures out how to navigate his way through life a little better than his old man.