Rule Breaker

By Joe Rector

Rules are hard things for some people. They have a tendency to rub them the wrong way. At the same time, something rebellious inside makes us want to test the limits to see how far they can be stretched. Most of the time, such actions lead to bad consequences for individuals, as well as others who are affected by those rules.

Small children learn to follow rules set at home. I remember some of the worst whippings I received were for daring to flout them. On one occasion, Jim and I crossed Ball Camp Pike to visit the neighbors. Mother was terrified that we made such a move, and a switch reinforced the rule to stay in our own yard, at least while she was home.

A few years later we were back at it. This time we were following the Cheek boys, who were our neighbors. They were much older and prodded us into several acts of rule defiance. We traveled behind our house to Boss Road. Once there, we hiked to the top of Baldy, a good-sized hill with its front covered in hay and its top thick with woods. On another occasion, we tried cigarettes, but that didn’t last too long because Daddy caught us and set our behinds on fire. Other than that, Jim and I followed the rules that had been set for us with only a few more exceptions.

High school brought changes. Daddy had died the year before, and for some reason, doing forbidden things became a way of life. I used to enjoy lighting cigarettes for Mike Mier, another neighbor, as we walked down the road to the store where the bus picked us up for school. Before long, the senior in high school grew weary of my slobbering all over his smoke. He gave me a cigarette and told me to light my own. With that, my “official days” of smoking began, although I’d smoked some since I was about 6 years old.

I smoked in the pit at the school, and Mr. Nicely demanded that I have Mother sign a form so that I could obtain a smoking permit. She was not at all happy about having to give her consent to something that she knew was bad for me, but she also knew that I would eventually be suspended from school if I didn’t have the permit.

It was also during those teenage years that I broke the rules about drinking alcohol. Cousin Charlie and I spent nearly every weekend together, and we rode from hot spot to hot spot with a case of beer in the trunk. Mind you, I didn’t like the taste of beer, but being cool was just too important to not participate. I only became intoxicated once. It was one night when I was to paint the acoustic tiles on the ceiling at the Burger King, where I worked. I worked on the ladder for a short time before the world began to spin, and the rest of the night I spent on my knees as I threw up my guts and made that infamous promise to God that would never drink again if he just stopped the world from spinning.

In those days, the law was changed so that 18-year-olds could drink legally. That took most of the appeal out of the activity. The thrill came from breaking the rules, not from the drinking. I think that people who zip down the highway now do so for the same reason. There’s no other reason for taking one’s life in his own hands as he barrels down the interstate at 100 mph.

These days, I am a rule follower. I especially follow them when I drive. Those who speed or rocket to the front of standing traffic and then try to cut line infuriate me. They seem to believe that their lives are far more important than mine, something I won’t accept. I won’t park in fire lanes, I don’t “do” drugs, and I pay bills on time. I’m wired that way, but some say I’m just a fuddy-duddy. Yes, I am, but rules are made for a reason, and those who break them are acknowledging that they feel superior to the rest of us. That attitude breaks a few rules stated in the “good book.”