I still remember when I was four or five years old, being taken to a hair salon to wait while my mother had her hair done. I was soon bored since I couldn’t read the magazines and TV soaps were no entertainment for me. Mercifully, for those ladies and for myself, my mother allowed me to go outside and play on the front porch of the place.

A soft white rock made a half decent marker, and ever the little artist, I used one to make a few drawings on their small concrete porch, as I sat next to the railing to stay out of the way of anyone coming and going through their door.

The hand rail was like a little fence, with bars spaced a consistent distance apart, and after a while I noticed the spacing was just about the size of my head, or so it looked. And out of curiosity, I tried putting my head through the bars. It was a tight fit, but I was sure that distance fit my head and I pressed a little harder. To my satisfaction, with some effort my head went through the bars, and I smiled at how well I had sized things up.

The smile soon left my face, when, for the first time in my life, I realized I had a one-way head. It had certainly gone through those bars, but, no matter how hard I tried, it was not coming out.

“Mommy! Mommy!” I cried. And the screaming and hollering soon gathered an audience, which included my mother, and most of the current occupants of that hair salon. And all the women there, from blue-haired grannies to young and capable mothers, could not get this little boy’s big head back through those bars.

Someone suggested they go next door and get big Mr. Henry, the TV repairman, to come and extract the little animal from his trap, and that’s what they did. Henry soon sized up the situation and, being a father himself, figured there was a lesson to learn here and he intended to teach it.

After some dramatic heaving, and prying, all to no avail, Mr. Henry said that it might be hopeless. Though he could get me out, he might have to cut my head off to do so. “Mommy!” I wailed.

“Let me try some more,” said Mr. Henry, seeming a bit more determined. After more struggling and heaving and tugging at those tear streaked bars, they seemed to give just a little and then he stopped. “I think I can get him out, and may only have to cut off his ears,” he said encouragingly.

“Waaah… Waaah, Momme-e-e-e-e!” I cried, not the least bit consoled over losing only my ears.

“Ladies, I have an idea. Go inside and get some soap, then suds up the little feller’s ears, and I’ll pry the bars apart while some of ya’ll pull.” And within a minute of that constructive advice I was free at last and wrapped around my mom’s legs staring wearily at Mr. Henry.

The big man smiled at me, and gently said, “Son, from here out you might want to be a lot more careful about poking your little head somewhere it doesn’t belong. You only got one.”

So, I have no excuse or explanation, having been taught this lesson so forcefully, and at such a young age, for the many times I’ve stuck my neck out and done something foolish over the years, especially the foolish things I’ve done in the sign business. It’s a wonder that my head, and my ears, are still safely in place, but there have been some close calls.

Like the time I took a client’s assurance that he knew there was nothing buried anywhere close to where his sign was going, and promptly dug into, but not through, a natural gas pipeline, narrowly saving my head and ears once more. Or the time another customer talked me into using my small ladder-crane, capable of lifting a few hundred pounds, to pick up an air conditioning compressor weighing 1,000 pounds or more. That incident did not end well. Physically I missed becoming a casualty, but my bank account certainly was severely wounded.

I’ve poked my head in places it didn’t need to go by taking on work I had no experience in, and no business doing. More than once, to meet a customer’s timeframe, I’ve fought the wind and the weather to my own peril, when a hesitation of only a day or two would have made these jobs much easier and much safer. Though it took a ridiculously long time to be able to say this honestly, at the ripe old age of 56, I’m not young and dumb any longer.

I hope you aren’t either, and you never let your clients, and their perceived deadlines, coerce you into doing anything unsafe, unwise or beyond your capabilities. After all, we have no body parts to spare at any age, and a little soap and bubbles won’t extract us from the traps we let ourselves get into. So, always call before you dig, always be extra careful, and teach your employees to do the same. Have a great month.