Skip to main content

Common Sense

Podcast – Common Sense . . .

It was Voltaire who said, “Common sense is not so common.”

Welcome to Labor Day weekend. With this pandemic still around us and businesses beginning to open up, please exercise your best judgment when going out. I’ve been holding on to this segment that appeared in The London Times on Common Sense for most of the summer.

Here’s what it said;

Today, we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

  • Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
  • Why the early bird gets the worm;
  • Life isn't always fair, and
  • Maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).


His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place.


Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate, teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch, and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student only worsened his condition.


Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for disciplining their unruly children, a job they had failed to do. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer suntan lotion or an aspirin to a student but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.


Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses, and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home, and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.


Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.


He is survived by his four stepbrothers;

  • I Know My Rights
  • I Want It Now
  • Someone Else Is To Blame
  • I'm A Victim

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.


My listening friends, before it is too late, let’s make “Common sense common practice.”


This is Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Anonymous said…
As Tom Buckman used to say...if you don't have common sense I don't give a tinker's darn!
Edmund said…
Please tell of your favorite moments growing up in Cuban Illinoise.

Most Popular of All Time

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

On the Fly–Taking Flight

In this special 500th episode,  On the Fly  is moving to a new home. Here’s why—and what’s staying the same. For a very long time (since April 2012),  On the Fly  has lived on  Blogger . Blogger has been a reliable host—dependable, quiet, and never complaining when I arrived late with another half-baked idea, a guitar riff, or a story that needed a little air. It faithfully archived my thoughts, my music, and more than a decade of curiosity. But the internet has changed. It’s louder now. Flashier. More insistent. Every thought is nudged to perform. Every sentence wants to be optimized, monetized, or interrupted by something that really wants your attention right this second. I’ve been craving the opposite. So today, On the Fly is moving to Substack . If you’ve been with me for a while, you know my quiet obsession: the A rt of Seeing . I’m interested in the moments we rush past—the Aversion Trap, the discipline hidden inside a guitarist’s daily practice, t...

Chasing 70

In this episode,  Chasing 70: A Respectful Negotiation with Gravity They say golf is a game of misses. If that’s true, my first round of the year at Rancho Carlsbad was a masterclass in missing efficiently . After a four-month hiatus—during which my golf clubs quietly evolved into a self-sustaining garage ecosystem—Lori and I returned to our local par-three proving ground. Rancho Carlsbad is a par-54, just 1,983 yards long. That sounds forgiving until it exposes every weakness you’ve been politely ignoring during the off-season. I finished with a 78. In most contexts, 78 is respectable. On a par-54, it means I spent a fair amount of time “getting my steps in.” But here’s the real motivation: I turn 70 this August. As a core principle of my Great Un-Working Lifestyle, I’m putting it in writing: I want to shoot my age by my birthday. The Bald-Headed Man Course Around here, we have a nickname for Rancho Carlsbad. We call it the Bald-Headed Man Course. First, because there are no woods...