Second

I gave in. I turned on the Air Conditioner. But I only did it after I learned that Mom & Dad had turned theirs on first. I already wear the Holiday Weenie Sash for perpetually being the first one to erect my Christmas Tree. I don't need the Heat Wimp Tiara to go with it.

Second is fine by me. Always has been. I remember at my last (and by that, I mean final) employer, the question arose "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I answered without hesitation, "Second-in-command". Think about it - elbow-deep in power and influence, a heartbeat away from a lifetime of ulcers, but none of the Ultimate Responsibility that rests with The One At The Top. I ain't as dumb as I look. I got every job I applied for at that company - and a couple I hadn't applied for. I think I'd have made it to second, if I'd had time.

Second is good when you're going into uncharted waters, too. I do not have pride in discovery and unique adventures never before known to man. I'm very much OK to let someone else work out the kinks and then try it myself. My name won't go in any history books, but I'll take some of the same rides as those that do. In no lifetime could I imagine being the person at the front of the cavalry or first in line to go through the swamp...none of that. Cowardly? Fine. Call it what you will. I think it's the wisdom of The Second.

My buddy Joe showed up at our Friday Night Dinner last night with his partner - two weeks to the day after having his breastbone cracked like a walnut for multiple bypasses. He described in too great detail what he perceived when he awoke after surgery. I remembered when they'd called me during The Tour in 1983 to tell me that my father had a massive heart attack and may not make it until - or through - surgery. I got on a roach-infested Greyhound bus near Gatlinburg, TN and made it to Kansas City in time to tell his sedated and unconscious form - before surgery - that I really didn't like him very much. When he made it through, he became a different person. We were given a second chance, as the cliche-lobbers would call it. I knew it was none of my business whether Joe had any of those second-chance thoughts. But I wondered anyway.

It's hard to be first anymore. It's almost all been done. Someone quizzed me last night about the details of my last dating experience. It was nice to have someone affirm that they'd been down that very road. They had the same story to tell. I knew I wasn't the first one to make that mistake. But it was sure nice hearing it from somebody who really knew what it was like. I wasn't even the first one in that little room. I was second.

Second is Pretty Damn Good without the press conference. It's still a ribbon, just of a different hue. It's all the self-satisfaction along with someone to vilify or worship, depending on how you tilt, all rolled up in one. Second is better than damn near everybody and the one exception could have been a fluke. Second has possibility and aspirations built into it. Second is anonymous through all of time except to himself. First is just first. It's great, but so much less textured.

Second, though... Second is next. By its definition, almost, it is more of an anticipation than a failure. It's less shortcoming than modesty. It's where I'm comfortable. In second.

Just a second.