I’ll soon be the wallflower on the radio

My life keeps serving up dishes I’m not sure I want to eat. 

Despite my gregarious personality, I am at heart an introvert. I know, I know … those who know me personally are rolling their eyes right now.

I have a big mouth and I know how to use it. But honestly, I’m a lot more comfortable sitting in a dark corner somewhere, a wallflower watching the party from a safe distance.

I’m happiest in a small fishing boat on a quiet lake, an ultra-lite rod in one hand and a cold Bud in the other.

I know the trend in this country is to seek out fame (or at least notoriety) at all costs. We’re constantly bombarded with the message that you’re nobody unless you’re famous. The timid among us get their fame fix by posting endless selfies on Facebook. The more desperate climb water towers and take potshots at student nurses.

It all comes down to the same thing: being the little kid on the playground jungle gym yelling, “Hey! Look at me!”

At any rate, the itch to be well known is a condition I’ve never really developed. But I am, at least a little bit. 

I’ve been writing this column for decades. It appears in a lot of different newspapers and online outlets. So every once in a while, someone will walk up to me at the grocery and say, “Hey, aren’t you that guy that writes that column?” 

Now, I like people and it’s nice to know someone’s reading my work. But while I like people, I like them best in small numbers; preferably in groups of one. 

Crowds freak me out. Even “virtual” crowds. Writing this column for a relatively large audience is easy, mostly because I pretend I’m not. I pretend I’m writing for my girlfriend, my kids or sometimes, for myself. I try not to think about all the eyes that’ll be looking once it comes out in print.

Fooling myself like this is going to be harder with my radio show. Yup, radio show. Beginning Nov. 10, I’m going to be on the radio. It wasn’t my idea, but when Jim at WGLM 106.3 made the offer, it sounded too fun to turn down.

It’s not live, thank Heaven. But it’s still me; my dorky-sounding voice (and it does sound dorky, make no mistake). My inane comments and observations. My big mouth yammering away.

Every time I record an episode, I feel like a fool and a fraud. I’m hoping this doesn’t come out in the broadcasts (which will air weekdays at 5:30 p.m., by the way) but I’m afraid it might.

Ah, if I bomb, I bomb. It won’t be the end of the world and I will have at least tried. But I’d really rather be in that dark corner or out on a fishing boat.

Instead, here I am again, stepping up to the jungle gym and yelling, “Hey! Look at me!”

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

From brown to gray – riding with the kids and its affect on hair

I was in court this morning, lending moral support and questionable legal advice to my youngest son, age 17. James is a good kid, but one with dubious driving skills and a right foot that’s apparently too heavy to maintain the exact posted speed limit.

The infraction that landed him before the prosecutor was exceedingly minor, so much so that the case was dismissed, sans fine, jail time, points, or a speedy execution. James was relieved, as he had been lead to believe (by me) that the judge might hand down any or all of those sentences, depending on his mood.

A good scare goes a long way toward lightening that right foot, I believe.

I’m hoping in the future he’ll be more careful.

But the truth is, of my three kids James is probably the safest driver. My older children, Aubreii and Jordan, both in their mid-twenties, represent the kind of traffic menace rarely seen outside movies starring Sylvester Stallone or Bruce Willis.

I’m thinking about this now because I just returned from a weekend visit to Detroit, where Aubreii and Jordan now both reside. Jordan was working the big auto show there as a GMC rep, so I spent most of the weekend with my daughter.

My pickup seats only two and we had the grandkids with us most of the time, so Aubreii drove … through Detroit traffic … on icy, snowy roads … with screaming toddlers in the backseat … and the radio blasting … and the GPS yakking its digital head off in a futile effort to get Aubreii to turn at the proper intersections.

Tires squealed. I squealed. Cars swerved. Impolite hand gestures were exchanged.

And through it all, my darling daughter barely batted an eyelash. As my grasping fingers disappeared into the dashboard, she chatted unconcernedly about her new clients, the kids’ teachers and the interesting interview she heard recently on This American Life.

From time to time, she would glance at the road, but it was obvious the view didn’t hold much interest for her.

To make matters worse, my daughter drives one of those fuel-efficient, tiny Japanese cars. I’ve picked bigger things off the back of a hound dog. After years of looking down on traffic from the seat of my pickup, I feel incredibly vulnerable riding in any car that offers a clear view of the underside of most semi trailers.

Finally, there’s the fact that everyone in Detroit – every driver, at least – is actively trying to kill me.

Now, I lived in Detroit for years and got used to the traffic there. I’m sure there was a time when I drove like they all do. (Insanely.)

But for the past 15 years or so I’ve made my home in a town that makes Mayberry look like Manhattan. The only traffic problem I’m used to is slow-moving Amish buggies. Seriously, I can walk faster than the speed limit in my tiny burg.

So Detroit, my daughter, her Barbie-mobile … they all took their toll this past weekend.

I wonder if that Grecian Formula stuff really gets rid of grey hair.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or driving tips for teenagers, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at www.mlive.com/advancenewspapers.