You have, perhaps by now, read a story that broke a week or two ago. There are still unanswered questions about the source of several ounces by volume of liquid mercury that a school child innocently brought to his school.
Talk about a freak-out. A swarm of hazmat-garbed toxicology agents besieged the school, which is opening back up for classes again just today, to clean up the potential toxin.
Now this story is close to my heart, being thankful, in hindsight, that my similar stunt in grammar school back shortly after the end of the last ice age did not produce an equivalent freaking-out.
I don’t remember where I got it. But I held a little puddle of it in my hand. I coated old nickels and dimes with it. I made little raceways with pencils on the slope of my desk and retrieved the winning glob at at the finish line. Mostly.
And yet, perhaps had I not be poisoned by this early exposure, I might have turned out normal. But then today’s normal maybe is not such a high ideal, come to think of it. I’ll just be happy to be your eccentric, quirky,Â weird Uncle Fred–mad as a hatter but too dumb and happy to care.