Get my hands out of my pockets

I’m prone to falling. Not a good thing at my age. Particularly when you have your hands in your pockets.

Now, when I climb the rocky hill across our creek, Poncer Mountain (named after our first dog), I never have my hands in my pockets. I’m ready for the fall that is bound to happen one of these days.

It got me thinking: it’s best never to have my hands in my pockets while I go about life. For instance, I have lunch with three old friends twice a month. When the check comes, Brad always has his hands in his pockets. In three years, Brad has never picked up the check. Bad, bad Brad.

I volunteer with several local charities. It’s fun and worthy work. Yet, so many folks do not give a helping hand. They just keep them in their pockets. 

A long while back, I was in Old Town in Chicago with two college buddies. Still a great place for music and fun. We saw a big, big man rip the purse from a young lady and tear down the street. A young, fast man chased after him and tackled him in the middle of the street. We got our hands out of our pockets and acted as if we were there if this guy needed some help. He didn’t, and the police arrived.

From now on, I’ll try to keep my hands out of my pockets. How about you?