Category Archives: Jack Fisher’s Insights

Recounting The Dumbest Injury I Ever Got

We all like showing off scars. It doesn’t matter how big they are. We still use them as a catalyst to tell stories about ourselves. I don’t always get it. It’s just one of those weird things people do to make them seem tougher and more badass than they really are.

It’s not just a man thing, either. Women do this too. They just tend to be more subtle about it.

I have my share of scars from lingering injuries over the years. Each one of them has a story behind it. Some are more painful than others. There are a few I’d rather not share. Instead, I’m going to share a different kind of story about bodily injuries. Specifically, I’m going to tell the story about the dumbest injury I ever got.

It left no badass scar.

It didn’t make me tougher or stronger.

It was just a stupid fluke of an injury that taught me how hilariously frail the human body can be. More than anything else, I hope this story makes you laugh and appreciate the less foolish injuries we endure.

This particular injury occurred when I was playing little league baseball. For a time, it was a spring tradition. My dad would sign me up for little league and we’d build our weeks around it. For the most part, it was great. I loved baseball. I loved playing. I won’t say I was that good, but I certainly wasn’t that bad, either. I had fun, for the most part.

Like with any sport, you’re bound to get a few injuries here and there. I’d endured a few in that time. It was nothing I couldn’t handle. It was nothing that left a scar, either. I got lucky, compared to some of my teammates.

That changed one fateful day at practice. I think I was in the 4th or 5th grade at the time. I wasn’t doing very well that day. I don’t know why. My game was just off. I wasn’t hustling as much as I usual. I was content to just get through practice and prepare for the game.

Then, during fielding drills, the coach hits a ball my way while I’m playing outfield. Rather than glove it, I reach down to pick up the ball so that I can make a play at third base. In doing so, I badly jam my middle finger right against the ball.

It was the flukiest of fluke plays. I reached in and hit the ball with my finger at just the right angle to do some damage. I felt that damage too because I immediately whined about it. I still tried to shake it off, but by the end of practice, my middle finger was noticeably bruised. Part of it also started swelling. By the next day, my finger looked like it got stung by multiple bees.

It hurt like hell. On top of that, it was the same hand I used to write with. That made doing school work more painful than it already was. However, that wasn’t what made the injury so dumb. What truly made it stand out was that, for nearly a week, I could not bend my middle finger.

That meant that, for reasons beyond my control, it looked like I was giving everyone the finger. It was funny at times, but it hurt so much at the time that I don’t remember laughing much. I didn’t need a splint or anything. I just had to wait for it to heal. That was a long wait and there were plenty of embarrassing moments in between, especially at school.

I’m sure my parents remember some of those moments. I complained to them a lot and the best anyone could offer was a bag of ice. It was a miserable time, to say the least. I almost preferred a more serious injury. That would’ve made for a better story to tell. You just can’t tell a great story about picking up a baseball awkwardly and jamming your finger.

It did eventually heal. I did eventually go back to playing little league. I was just a lot more careful when it came to fielding ground balls. I endured more injuries over that time, but none were quite as dumb as that.

If you’ve got a dumber injury you’d like to share, please do so in the comments. Let’s not pretend every injury is epic. We’re all fallible human beings at the end of the day. We’re going to do stupid things and hurt ourselves in stupid ways. The best we can do is laugh about it and learn from it.

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A (Real) Story About Temptation, Peer Pressure, And Spicy Chicken Wings

I love spicy food. I make no secret of that. I’m the kind of guy who gets weird looks at a restaurant when I put buffalo sauce on potatoes. Some think it’s strange and a little unappetizing. I refuse to apologize for it.

As much as I love spicy food, I have my limits. There is such a thing as too spicy for me. I’ve had chicken wings dipped in sauce that caused me to run to the nearest sink and pour cold water on my head. I learned early on in my diet that there’s a fine line between spicy food and devil spit. I’ve since become quite capable at walking that line whenever I order chicken wings.

I’m glad I did because when it comes to spicy food, you don’t want to learn the hard way how hot it can get. While there are real methods for gauging the spiciness of a food, namely the Scoville Scale, there’s only so much numbers can tell you. For some people, the dangers of using a sauce that measures 1,000,000 Scoville units just doesn’t register.

Those people are destined to learn the hard way how much spice they can handle. As it just so happens, I have a story about one of those people that I’d like to share.

With summer upon us and barbecue foods dominating our dishes, I think the time is right for a quick reminder of what happens when spicy foods go too far. It was also around this time of year that a former co-worker of mine learned just how far it can go and paid the price.

To set the stage, this happened at one of my first jobs out of college. I’d been at this company for about a year or so. I’d made some good connections and quality friends. One of them was a fun-loving guy who I’ll call Derek, out of respect for his privacy. When you see how this story plays out, you’ll appreciate that.

Derek was a lot more extroverted than me. I was still coming out of my social awkwardness shell from high school. This guy, who was also fresh out of college, just loved hanging out and connecting with people. He frequently led other co-workers to nearby restaurants for beers and wings after long days at the office. Sometimes, I attended. Most of the time, I didn’t.

As it just so happens, one of the nearest restaurants to the office I worked at was a well-known buffalo wing place. Like many wing places, they had a broad selection of spicy wings to choose from. One, in particular, was so hot that you had to sign a waiver before ordering it. They called it the Widowmaker. It was said to use the infamous Ghost Peppers in its sauce, but the specifics were a well-kept secret.

I can’t remember too many people who dared to try it. For reasons that are still the stuff of legend, Derek decided to take the plunge one fateful evening after a long day at the office. I can’t get into too many specifics. I’ll just say that there was a considerable amount of beer and peer pressure involved.

To the credit, and chagrin, of my co-workers, they cheered him on. They offered to pay for the entire tab that night if he took up the challenge. It took surprisingly little convincing. Derek wasn’t even that drunk. He’d had only one beer at that point. He still signed the waiver and ordered the Widowmaker.

He was excited.

He was determined.

He claimed he could handle spicy foods better than most.

He would come to regret that boast.

When the Widowmaker wings came out, he was so confident. He looked like he was ready to take on the heavyweight champ in a boxing match. My co-workers were still cheering. He prepared himself mentally. It was a tense moment for everyone involved. He wanted to go down in history as one of the select few who’d finished those wings.

Then, he took his first big bite and swallowed quickly. It turned out to be his last of the evening.

The details after this get a bit fuzzy, but he went from determined to defeated in the blink of an eye. One second, he had the eye of the tiger. The next, it looked like he’d been punched in the jaw, gut, and balls by Mike Tyson on crack. He keeled over, started coughing, and started chugging ice water by the gallon.

Some laughed. Others cringed. A few had to help him to the bathroom so he could wipe the sweat and snot from his face. Needless to say, we all figured out why the restaurant demanded that people sign a waiver.

Derek didn’t come into work the next day. He claimed he needed a sick day. I think his pride was the only thing seriously ill after that experience. He also claimed that he had to stay within 10 feet of a toilet for the day. I don’t doubt him.

When he did come back, he was in good spirits. My co-workers did apologize profusely for goading him into eating the Widowmaker, but he just smiled and accepted. I think in hindsight, it was a humbling experience for him. It’s the kind of experience I think we all need at some point in our lives. Some are just more painful than others. This was one of them.

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My Father’s Day Tribute To My Awesome Dad

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The following is a brief tribute video that I made to honor my awesome dad on the eve of Father’s Day. It also includes a brief story that helps convey just how awesome he is. For all the other awesome dads out there who deserve to celebrate tomorrow, this is for you too.

To my awesome dad, Happy Father’s Day!

I love you man.

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Musings (And Struggles) On Men’s Hair Care Products

Take a deep breath because I’m a straight man who’s about to talk about his hair. Under most circumstances, that’s usually an invitation for all sorts of odd looks. However, with a global pandemic closing barbershops and hair salons nationwide, I think it’s safe to say the circumstances are unique. Even with some places opening up again, it’s not exactly as easy as walking in and asking for the next available stylist.

I’ll say what I’m sure everyone has at least thought to themselves at some point these past few months. I miss my barber. I miss getting a nice, competent haircut. I’ve spent the last couple months cutting my hair with a pair of cheap clippers. I’ve since come to appreciate the art and skill that goes into cutting hair. The next time I visit my barbershop, I intend to leave an extra-generous tip.

In the meantime, there’s one other issue that a lack of barbershops has revealed to me. It’s actually an issue that I’ve tried to avoid for years. It involves hair gel and the unique way my hair reacts to it. Specifically, it rarely reacts in a way that seems attractive or polished. I don’t know if that’s just a unique trait of my hair or if I’m using it wrong, but it doesn’t seem to work for me.

There was a brief time in my youth when I regularly used hair gel to slick my hair back. I thought it made me look good. For the most part, it was a way of compensating for having thick glasses and an acne problem. I figured that I couldn’t fix some of my facial flaws, but I could manage others. I don’t think my logic was wrong, but I’m fairly certain it backfired.

I’m also fairly certain I messed up my hair for years. I don’t think I succeeded in making myself more attractive, either. Every product I used had the same effect. It made my hair look like I’d styled it with glue. It became dry, stiff, and weird looking. You could tell there was something in my hair and it wasn’t natural. While most products had a pleasant smell, some were so bad that people made faces when they got too close.

Some of that might have been due to me using too much, but even when I used a little, it rarely made a difference. My hair still felt like I’d been on the receiving end of a bad frat prank. Eventually, I got so frustrated that I just stopped using all hair products that weren’t shampoo. Even when I grew my hair out in college, I didn’t do much to style it.

That was fine for college. That was even fine for post-college professional life. As long as I got a regular haircut, I could get away with just slicking my hair back with water and letting it style itself naturally. I got away with it for years, so much so that I barely thought about it.

Then, the pandemic hit and all the barbershops closed.

Suddenly, I have to give my hair more scrutiny than usual. Beyond just cutting it myself, I’ve also had to test out some new hair gels to make it look at least semi-kempt. Just like before, the results have been limited. Some of that is probably because I cut my hair so short and so unevenly that it’s hard to style. At the same time, I’m positive there’s room for improvement.

At the moment, I’m using this styling gel that a relative recommended for me. It’s working to the extent that I can make my hair look decent. When I’m using it, you can’t tell from a distance that I haven’t had a haircut in nearly five months. It still makes my hair feel dry and crusty, but it’s manageable. It’s probably the best I can do for now.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll keep using this gel. Hopefully, once the barbershops open again, my hair can go back to being a secondary concern. While cutting my own hair and having to make it look decent has been an adventure, I still miss my barber. I miss not looking like a failed punk rocker in the morning.

I know it’s a minor concern in the context of a pandemic, but it’s one of those things you realized you took for granted. Rest assured, I won’t take my barber for granted anytime soon. In the meantime, if anyone has more advice on hair care for men without barbers, I’d love to hear it. Please share your tips and recommendations in the comments.

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My YouTube Experience Thus Far (And Tentative Plans)

It’s been a week since I started my YouTube channel, Jack’s World. I feel inclined to provide a little insight because so far, the experience has exceeded my expectations and in a good way.

Since the beginning of this year, I’ve been looking to mix things up in terms of my creative outlet. I’ve always sought out that kind of outlet, going all the way back to high school. It’s a big part of who I am. I started this website in hopes of furthering my work as an aspiring writer. While it did help in getting a couple books published on a small scale, it didn’t lead to a whole lot more.

The more I’ve looked into it, the more it feels like the publishing world is inaccessible to someone like me. Over the past couple years, it feels like my window to break into it has closed. Finding an agent or a publisher just isn’t a viable route anymore. Even old sources like Writers Market have lost relevance.

In short, the publishing market is just so different right now and I have no idea how to navigate it. I don’t know that I have the time or energy to learn that world. I still have a bunch of unpublished manuscripts that I’d like to share one day, but I’m genuinely unsure of how to go about turning them into a tangible product.

Writing sexy short stories offered a nice outlet for a while as well, but the audience for that dried up as well. The reason I scaled back my efforts on this site earlier this year is because I felt the effort I put into it wasn’t matching what I got out of it. At the same time, I wanted to find another method for reaching an audience and building a brand.

Already, I feel like I can do that with YouTube.

On top of that, I’ve genuinely enjoyed the video-making process. I’m certainly no expert. In fact, I freely admit the quality of my work is amateur at best. I do not use professional-grade software. I use Movie Maker, a free program that came with my computer. I use a free sound editor called WavePad to edit the audio. The music is mostly royalty-free stuff provided by YouTube Studios.

My work is nowhere close to the quality that you see from experienced YouTubers or professionals, but none-the-less, I still like it. I want to learn more. I want to get better at this. I genuinely enjoy sharing my voice with the world in my own little medium.

If I can get an audience and grow it, I may even invest in better software. I have friends and family members who work in professional environments who use high-end software. They’ve already made recommendations. If I continue enjoying this YouTube process, then I’ll gladly invest.

What does this mean for this website?

What does this mean for my writing?

I honestly don’t know. My plan, at the moment, is to put more energy into making videos. That likely means less energy for this website. I don’t know what that means for my weekly comic reviews or Sexy Sunday Thoughts. It depends on how much of an audience I can find on YouTube. Only time will tell.

Until then, I encourage those who enjoy this site to keep an eye on Jack’s World. If all goes well, it will become the primary hub from which I share my work with the world.

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Improving My Sleep With The “Sleep With Me” Podcast: Using Boredom And A Soothing Voice To Fall Asleep

Staying healthy has never been more important. During a global pandemic, we all have to be more health conscious. One of the best things you can do for yourself in a crisis like this is to stay healthy. If your body, your mind, and your immune system are robust, then you have a better chance at making it and so do those around you.

Working out and eating right are plenty important. I’ve shared some of my experiences with that. However, the importance of sleep is often understated. By that, I don’t mean the kind of sleep you get when you’re lazily lofting about for 12 hours at a time. I’m referring to the kind of refreshing, restful sleep that is critical to our mind, bodies, and everything in between.

It’s a precious, but critical element of our lives. It’s also something that feels incredibly elusive, especially during stressful times like this. I know this because I’ve been an overly stressed high school student with a part-time job. I’ve been a stressed out college student who crammed for exams until three in the morning.

I think everyone, from those stressed out by work to those stressed out by kids, know the value of a good night’s sleep and what happens when you don’t get it. The problem is that, even when you’re tired, falling asleep can be difficult. There are plenty of things you can do to help that, including medication. However, I discourage the use of sleeping pills, except in rare cases for rare conditions and at the guidance of a doctor.

Most of the other sleeping tips you can do are common sense, but in the interest of helping everyone sleep a little better during this crisis, I’d like to offer a not-so-common tip. It’s not a pill, an expensive pillow, or some spiritual woo. It’s a podcast.

Specifically, it’s the Sleep With Me podcast. It’s kind of what it sounds like, depending on how dirty your mind is.

I recently discovered this after having a few restless nights. On paper, it sounds so absurd that it just has to work.

A man named Drew Ackerman basically spends an hour telling long, non-sensical, boring stories in his unique monotone voice to help lull you to sleep. These stories are so boring and mundane that you can’t help but feel drowsy halfway in. It essentially takes boredom and weaponizes it for the purpose of helping you sleep.

It’s as strange and wonderful as it sounds. It also works, as many loyal subscribers can attest. If you need any proof, here’s a sample. Just don’t listen to it while driving. You will get sleepy.

If you’re having trouble sleeping, I encourage everyone to give this podcast a try. The world is a crazy place right now. Getting a good night’s sleep can only help.

Sweet dreams, everyone. Hopefully, this helps you as much as it helps me.

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Recounting The Dumbest Health Scare I Ever Had

Everybody makes a fool of themselves at some point in their lives. It’s inevitable. Like traffic, taxes, and boredom at a doctor’s office, it’s an ever-present prospect. You’re going to do something stupid at some point. No matter how much time passes, you’re going to look back and cringe. You’ll feel so stupid at that moment that you’ll wonder how you ever managed put your pants on that day.

Some people have more moments than others. The capable people learn and grow from them. The idiots and narcissists never learn, but make endless excuses. I don’t deny I’ve had a number of those moments in my life. Some are more foolish than others. A few are things I’m not comfortable sharing. I will, however, share one that still makes me cringe and laugh with distressing regularity.

It involves a health scare that I had a while back. Don’t worry. It’s quite possibly the dumbest health scare you’ll ever hear about that doesn’t involve a hang nail or something a kid learned in sex ed. If anyone has anything stupider, I’d love to hear it.

Before I get into detail, I need to note the context of this scare. I’m not making excuses. I’m just highlighting that it didn’t come out of nowhere. This happened shortly after a close relative began undergoing cancer treatments. On top of that, heart disease ran in my family. I had a valid reason for being overly cautious about my health.

That didn’t make what happened any less stupid.

It happened one day when I was trimming my beard. I noticed a strange bump on my lower-right chin. It didn’t feel like anything I’d felt before. I tried to look closer. I couldn’t tell what it was through my facial hair. It didn’t feel like a bruise or an ingrown hair. It just felt like a regular bump.

At first, I shrug it off. Then, I start picking at it, as people tend to do with things they don’t understand. Naturally, it starts growing. At some point, it gets a little sore. I can feel it when I chew. That’s when my mind starts racing.

What if it’s a tumor?

What if it’s some malignant cyst?

What if it’s some crazy condition I don’t even know about?

I’m not going to lie. I did start anxiously browsing WebMD for information, which you should definitely not do. Browsing WebMD in hopes of determining how sick you are is like watching old cop movies to learn how to defuse a bomb. You’re only going to make it worse.

It’s because of that I seriously considered going to my doctor. I even promised myself that, if it still hurt after a week, I would make an appointment. Thankfully, it never came to that because I soon found out what it was in the dumbest way possible.

It was a goddamn pimple.

That’s it. That’s all it was. It was just a pimple that had somehow formed in my beard and got irritated, probably because I kept picking at it. I only confirmed it was a pimple when it randomly popped. Again, I was picking at it. Having had serious acne problems since I was a teenager, I knew what pimples looked like when they popped. This just happened to be a particularly large one that my beard hid.

I wish I could say it was a relief, but I just felt so stupid at the moment that I would’ve preferred something worse. I vividly remember looking at myself in my bathroom mirror with this deadpanned expression, as though I’d just tried to cut a steak with a soup spoon. I would’ve laughed if it weren’t so pathetic.

There’s a time and a place to worry about your health. A global pandemic is bound to put everyone on edge and for wholly valid reasons. However, you don’t do yourself any favors by being stupid. If anything, you’ll only find creative ways to make it worse.

I’ve had plenty of other moments in my life when I’ve felt dumb. Given current events, I thought I’d share one about my health at a time when we’re all a little extra health conscious. No matter the situation, we’re all vulnerable to doing stupid things. We just need to be a lot more careful during a pandemic.

If anyone else has a story about moments when they felt dumb, please share them in the comments. As long as we’re all stuck at home, we might as well use it as an opportunity for extra introspection.

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Another Awesome Story About My Awesome Mom On Mother’s Day Eve

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. For some people, it’s just one of those Hallmark Holidays that requires that you purchase a card, make a phone call, and watch a few cheesy 1-800-Flowers ad. For those lucky enough to have an awesome mom like mine, it’s more than that.

I’ve said it before on multiple occasions. I’ll keep finding other ways to say it until the entire internet hears it.

My mom is awesome.

That is not in dispute. That’s just an objective fact on par with math and gravity. I knew that when I was still a kid. I know that now as a full-grown adult. With each passing year, I come to appreciate my mother’s awesome more and more. That makes celebrating Mother’s Day extra special.

For a mom like mine, a card just won’t cut it. Even during a pandemic, I’m going to find a way to go the extra mile to show my mom how much I love and appreciate her. As part of that effort, I’d like to share another personal story that further proves my mom’s greatness. If this doesn’t get the point across, then you’re just being difficult.

This particular story is small in scope, but incredibly revealing with respect to the kind of person my mother is. I don’t know if she’ll remember this. I know she reads this site every now and then. I hope she does because for me, it’s one of those powerful memories that has only gotten more meaningful with time.

The setting of this story is simple, but still requires a bit of context. It occurred when I was in my late teens. It was the middle of summer and I was home from college. For me, that didn’t just mean sitting around all day, waiting for the fall semester to begin. I worked during the summers. I was also expected to do chores on the weekends. One of them involved mowing the lawn.

Now, that was one of my least favorite chores and my mom knew that. I still did it, but was rarely thrilled about it. I need to establish that before I lay out what happened. It matters with respect to how this ordeal played out.

It occurred on a Saturday morning. I was downstairs in the basement, watching TV and working on my laptop, as I often did. Then, my mother comes walking down the stairs and she’s not in a good mood. It has nothing to do with what I or any of my siblings did. She’s just miserable, restless, and tense, as people can get for no apparent reason.

While in that mood, she tells me to mow the lawn and she’s not nice about it. She doesn’t ask me to do it. She doesn’t even say, please. She just tells me to do it in a crass, callous way that is not typical of my mother. It shows just how bad a mood she was in that day.

Naturally, I don’t react with much enthusiasm. I groan and roll my eyes, but it’s not just because I hate mowing the lawn. That’s not how anyone wants to be told to do something. My mother senses this, as I’m not subtle about it. Not surprisingly, goes off and tell me not to give her any attitude.

Then, in a response I honestly didn’t think much about, I tell her, in so many words, that she could’ve at least said please. She also could’ve been less rude about it. I even threw in a comment about how she’d taught me to be courteous and polite all my life. I don’t remember exactly what I said because, like I said, I didn’t give much thought to my response. A part of me still dreaded my mother’s response.

What happened next is a further testament to my mother’s character. Almost immediately, her crummy mood changed. She put her hand up, shook her head, and apologized. She acknowledged that she was rude and in the wrong. I instinctively accepted that apology. I still agreed to mow the lawn later that day and I did.

What stands out so much about that moment was how much humility my mother showed in that moment. I’m her son and she’s the parent. Usually, the dynamic is reversed. It’s the parent who’s supposed to call the child out when they’re being rude or impolite. When the roles are flipped, it doesn’t go the same way.

My mother was well within her right, as a parent, to just brush off my comment. She was also within her right to pile onto it and call me an asshole for daring to call her out like that. She could’ve just said, “I can talk to you however I want because I’m your mom. That’s that.” Instead, she chose the more respectable path.

She showed that she practiced the values she preached to me and my siblings. She holds herself to the same standard that she holds me. When she’s wrong or rude, she owns up to it. She takes responsibility and apologizes, just as she would expect of me if I were in that position. It was a small gesture, but I gained a whole new level of respect for my mother that day.

I know more than a few people whose parents take full advantage of their authority. To them, respect is not earned from a child. It’s a given, even when it’s not reciprocated. There are instances when that’s necessary, but this wasn’t one of them. My mother was self-aware enough to recognize that and set a better example. Since then, I’ve done my best to meet those standards.

There are so many other wonderful stories that I could share about my mother. Some are more elaborate than others. This one is small by comparison, but it’s those kinds of stories that help you really appreciate the kind of person someone is. My mother is wonderful in so many ways. This is just one of them. It’s part of what makes Mother’s Day worth celebrating.

To my awesome mom, I love you with all my heart.

Happy Mother’s Day!

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Ode To “Hold My Hand” By Hootie And The Blowfish: My First Favorite Love Song

When we’re kids, we rarely listen closely to the songs we love. It starts almost immediately after we graduate from singing along to nursery rhymes to singing along to whatever song is on the radio. We rarely understand the meaning of the song, the lyrical structure, or any subtext or innuendo. We just like how it sounds.

As a result, some of the songs we love as kids age better than others. Kids who sung the lyrics of Prince probably didn’t pick up on the incredibly sensual undertones to his lyrics. As adults, it can be somewhat jarring to learn just what those lyrics meant.

On the other end of the spectrum are the songs that only seem to get better with age. They’re not nearly as common or appreciated, but they hold a special place in our hearts, none-the-less. For me, one song in particular stands out. It’s a song that I think everyone who was alive and had a radio in 1994 probably heard at least once. It’s “Hold My Hand” by Hootie and the Blowfish.

I know they’re not the coolest band from that era. In fact, they’re one of those bands who people love to hate for shallow reasons. They’re an easy band to be cynical about. They had one massively successful album, but they never duplicated it. Their songs are cheerful, upbeat, and fun. That kind of thing just doesn’t work in a world steeped in cynicism, pessimism, and internet trolls.

However people might feel about them, they’ll always have a special place in my heart for one simple reason. That song, “Hold My Hand,” was the first love song I ever genuinely liked as a love song.

That matters a lot to me because, at the time, I was still a young kid. I was just starting to develop a taste for romance. I started noticing the romantic subplots of my favorite cartoons. I began appreciating romance in a way that set me apart from others. Then, this song came out.

It was a simple, genuine love song. The lyrics were easy to understand and follow. The tune and rhythm was catchy. Everything about it just clicked with me. While it’s not my favorite love song right now, it’s always been in my top ten. Even if you’re not a fan of the music of that era, I encourage you to appreciate the sentiment of the song.

What makes it stand out even more is just how well this song has aged. Whereas some love songs have gained a more creepy, if not stalker-like subtext, the sentiment in “Hold My Hand” actually works better today than it did in the mid-90s.

The song doesn’t involve someone professing complete and utter captivation.

It doesn’t rely on the kind of fairy tale love that exists only in Disney movies and bad romantic comedies.

It relies on love that feels real. Just read the lyrics.

With a little love and some tenderness
We’ll walk upon the water
We’ll rise above the mess
With a little peace and some harmony
We’ll take the world together
We’ll take them by the hand
‘Cause I’ve got a hand for you, oh
‘Cause I wanna run with you
Yesterday, I saw you standing there
Your head was down, your eyes were red
No comb had touched your hair
I said, get up, and let me see you smile
We’ll take a walk together
Walk the road awhile, ’cause
‘Cause I’ve got a hand for you
I’ve got a hand for you
‘Cause I wanna run with you
Won’t you let me run with you, yeah
Want you to hold my hand
(Hold my hand)
I’ll take you to a place
Where you can be
(Hold my hand)
Anything you wanna be because
I wanna love you the best that
The best that I can
See I was wasted, and I was wasting time
‘Til I thought about your problems
I thought about your crimes
Then I stood up, and then I screamed aloud
I don’t wanna be part of your problems
Don’t wanna be part of your crowd, no
‘Cause I’ve got a hand for you
I’ve got a hand for you
‘Cause I wanna run with you
Won’t you let me run with you
Want you to hold my hand
(Hold my hand)
I’ll take you to the promised land
(Hold my hand)
Maybe we can’t change the world but
I wanna love you the best that
The best that I can, yeah
Let me walk, oh won’t you let me, let me
(Hold my hand)
Want you to hold my hand
(Hold my hand)
I’ll take you to a place where you can be
(Hold my hand)
Anything you wanna be because
I oh no, no, no, no, no
(Hold my hand)
Want you to hold my hand
(Hold my hand)
I’ll take you to the promised land
(Hold my hand)
Maybe we can’t change the world but
I wanna love you the best that
The best that I can
Oh, best that I can

It feels like an honest, sincere love letter. It says I’m not going to try and love you like a queen, goddess, angel, or something other than human. I’m just going to try and love you the best that I can. I don’t want to take you far away and do all these strange, lurid things. I just want to hold your hand.

As a romantic sentiment, it’s hard to have something as simple and sweet.

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Filed under Jack Fisher's Insights, romance

The Moment I Knew Puberty Began For Me

In life, there are certain moments when you know you’ve reached a certain milestone. Sometimes, it’s obvious. From the first time you drive a car to the first time you kiss someone who isn’t your mother, they stand out in your memory. It’s not always pleasant. Some moments are more awkward than others, but they mark a major change in your life.

Going through puberty is one of those things that generates more awkward moments than most. I challenge anyone to recount their transformation from kid to adult without at least one part being awkward. I’ve shared a few stories from my youth, some being a lot more awkward than others. I can laugh about them now, but they marked critical points in my life that have only become more relevant as I’ve gotten older.

For most of us, there’s no one single point when we know we’ve entered puberty. You don’t just wake up one day and know that you’re a teenager now. All those crazy mental and physical changes don’t happen all at once. If they did, few of us would survive the process with our sanity intact.

That said, there are some moments that, in hindsight, mark a particular point in your life when you realize that this transformation has become. You’ve crossed the point of no return. You’re becoming a teenager now. Eventually, you’ll become an adult. It can be daunting, but it’s a part of life.

In that spirit, I’d like to share a particular moment that still stands out to me after all these years. It’s a moment in which I realized that I wasn’t a kid anymore. Puberty has begun and there’s no going back. At that moment, it was just a strange realization that I discounted. However, over time, it became a turning point.

It happened while I was in the fifth grade. It was late spring. We had just come back from Spring Break. The weather had finally gotten nice enough to enjoy recess without heavy jackets. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I was just glad I could stop dressing in layers.

On this particular day, though, it was very humid. Coming back from recess, everyone was a lot sweatier than usual. Being kids, we didn’t care. We were just glad to get outside and away from book reports. I don’t remember much else about what happened that day, but I can vividly recall what happened the moment we returned to class.

As soon as we sat down at our tests and my teacher got to the front of the room, she made an impromptu announcement that will forever echo in my memory.

“You all, stink.”

I swear I’m not paraphrasing. That’s exactly what my teacher told us. She was an credibly blunt, straightforward woman. She didn’t mince words and this was one instance in which they couldn’t be sugarcoated.

She took a good five minutes of class time to give an impromptu lecture on how much we smell. She wasn’t polite about it. She just said in every possible way that we really smell and we need to start using deodorant. Past teachers have told us we smelled before, but never like this. It was the first time in which I became mindful of body odor.

I was really taken aback by this, as were plenty of classmates. Keep in mind, we’re all just 5th graders. We still see ourselves as kids and not teenagers. Some were more mature than others, but we were still kids at heart. I certainly felt that way. After this, however, that changed.

When I left class that day, it started to sink in. I was going through puberty. At that point, I knew what it was. I’d taken a health class. My parents also told me about it, too. I just didn’t think it would happen for another couple years. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw a kid. Now, I took note of some very real changes.

Body odor was just one. At the same time, I started noticing acne and body hair. It was very subtle. It didn’t happen all at once, but after that day, I became much more aware of it. By the time I got to middle school, I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was a teenager at that point. That fateful day in the 5th grade was just the first time I realized it.

I’ve come to appreciate that moment more and more over the years. I still had many difficulties, as most kids do when they become teenagers. Some were more manageable than others. I probably could’ve handled it better, in hindsight. However, it’s still remarkable to think that it all began with that one fateful day.

Do you have a day like that? Is there one particular moment in which you realized puberty had begun for you? If so, please share it in the comments.

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Filed under health, Jack Fisher's Insights, men's issues