When I was a brash young man, in
my late teens, I struck out on my own, renting my own
place and moving at last  from my parent's home. There was no
bitterness. I was simply feeling "grown"
and ready to leave the nest. Moms gave me two plates,
a couple of cups, and silverware, a pot and a pan. I
was ready to seek my fortune.
That night, I unpacked my stuff,
ate my first meal, and listened to some Earth Wind
and Fire. When it was time to go to bed, I realised
that I had to make a nature call, and with very
little fanfare, I took a seat on my throne. When I
was relieved, I reached absentmindedly for the toilet
paper. To my horror, I noticed for the first time
that there was no paper hanging from the empty rack.
Suddenly it hit me. I had become
a man. This was a symbolic metaphor that underscored
the reality of maturity. I was totally responsible
for my own life. Up till now Pops had supplied the
toilet paper, and as far as I knew it could have
grown on the roll. It had never occured to me that
Pops probably worked 30 minutes a week, just to earn
enough money to provide paper for a family of 7. From
this point on, I would either sink or swim, as a
result of my own initiative or lack thereof. I
sat there on my throne in my brand new kingdom,
unable to clean my own ass, and I cried. Finally I
got up and walked my ass around to the gas station
down the street, and stole myself some toilet paper.
That was years ago. I finished
college, and I've been up and down, a few times since
then, but I've never been without toilet paper,
again.
The moral of
the story is: Money is just paper, but you can't wipe
your ass without some.
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