I don't think I was born with it, as I seem to remember doing some rather heinous things as a boy, chopping Mom's counter tops with a butcher knife to see the pretty pattern and relieve my boredom, electrocuting grasshoppers, and other such childish games.
I also seem to remember that I gradually aquired a conscience by suffering consequences for my actions, imposed by two older people I lived with, who called themselves, "My Parents."
My conscience can cost me sometimes...sometimes real money. Here's an example.
I was walking one day in my apartment complex in Phoenix. I was on my way to the pool, which was just a few yards from my door. I didn't wear shoes that day, since the pool was so close and the sidewalks led literally right to it.
I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was stepping, so I didn't see the rusted piece of metal, part of an expansion joint between two slabs of concrete, that was sticking up like a razor blade in my path.
As I swung my foot across it, it slashed the bottom of my foot open from toes to heel, all the way down to the bone. I gasped in surprise and amazement, and staggered, limped, hopped back to my apartment. If you've never felt the bones of your foot touching concrete, be happy, it isn't pleasant.
I sat in the bathtub, trying to tape the huge wound shut. I was having trouble, since I had lost so much blood that I was a little "tipsy". I called a friend of mine to come over and help me. When he arrived, he turned pale as a ghost at the sight of the bathroom. it probably looked like a psychopath had been slaughtering pigs in it. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, and the tub had very little white left.
I told him, "Dude, I cut myself, I need you to stich it up, 'cause I can't see what I'm doing!" he took on look, gasped, and said, "You gotta be kidding! I can see the bone. Dude! You gotta go to the hospital for this one!" I replied, "I can't, I don't have any money right now, and my car is busted." (He didn't have a car either.) Then he had an idea, "Hey! I'll go get the landlord, they are probably insured for this kind of thing!" I tried to stop him, thinking it was futile, in my experience, landlords never helped people, only took their money and got mad at them when they painted thier skateboards in the apartment.
The landlord returned, too one look at the wound, (and by this time I was feeling pretty "happy") and told my friend, "Don't worry, we have insurance, I'll drive him to the hospital.)
I thought the hospital would be a good thing, but I forgot something. There are as many nerves in your foot as in your hands, more maybe. The doctors tried everything they could think of to deaden the foot, Lydocaine, Zylocaine, Mytocaine, they even tried spraying Novocaine right into the wound itself. But every time they would ask, "Can you feel that?" My agonized answer was "Yeeessssssssss!" Finally they just gave up torturing me and set to stitching it up.
The wound healed beautifully! Since the slash was razor sharp, the edges were clean and there was barely a scar there within a month.
Then one day.... a man came up to me at the gas station I was managing at the time. I'll never forget the day. I was standing in the cool morning sunlight, washing down the tarmac, when he walked up, rumpled blue business suit and all. He said, "Do you know where I might find Jon St. Ives?"
To have a little fun with him, as I was wont to do when I was younger, I replied in my best English, " I am the person to whom you refer." His face took on a surprised look, followed quickly by a dejected expression. I instantly understood the situation. He was a legal man. He had been hoping I was an unintelligent, easily duped, blue collar worker.
He recovered quickly, but the cat was already out of the bag. "Mr. Ives, I'm from the insurance company that insures your apartment complex, I've come to discuss the compensation for your accident. Do you have time right now?"
I despise beating around the bush, especially with people I perceive to have only their own interests at heart and not mine. So I replied, "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? How much money are you offering?" He replied, "What do you think your pain and suffering was worth?" (They must teach these guys never to give an offer first, sheesh! )
I studied his face. He was sweating profusely, getting more and more worried by the second. Apparently, he had figured out by now that he was dealing with a keen intellect, despite the dirty gas station rags that camoflaged it. I said, "The pain was incredilble, and it's possible that I will walk with a limp for the rest of my life." That was a complete lie, the foot felt as good as new already, but to tease him a little, since I saw his brow furrow with even more worry, I said, "I don't think I will require anything as exorbitant as a million dollars, $100,000 dollars, will most likely cover everything."
I had been joking, of course, but I saw something then that shocked and amazed me.....He was actually relieved! I knew in an instant that I could have actually asked for and recieved a million dollars, perhaps even more.
Then it happened...my damn conscience. It started speaking to me. Screaming actually. My foot was fine, to take that kind of money would be a crime, it said. You'll never be able to look yourself in the mirror, it said, Theif! It cried, until I wanted to hold my hands to my ears.
With a bit of wistfulness, I looked the man squarely in the eye. He was already saying something about, "That would be fine with his organization, and would I please just sign this statement, guaranteeing me the money, but forbidding me from trying to get any more later?"
Then I heard my own voice speak, it seemed without my volition, "Mister, I'm not being serious. My foot's fine, it's healed completely, and in my family, we don't take money that we don't earn and don't deserve. My medical bills amount to $2000 dollars, and I'd like an extra $1000 for my pain so I can fix my car and still have enough to throw a party for my friends. That's it."
I don't think I've ever seen another human being as incredulous as the Insurance Man. Then or now. His jaw hung open and slack with amazment. He stammered, "Ya, ya, you mean that you don't want $100,000 dollars? You only want $3000?"
"Yes, that's what I want. Just enough to take care of the bills. No more than is fair." He hurriedly filled out the forms, as if he was afraid I might suddenly change my mind, or someone might come along and talk some sense into me. I signed them then and there. He handed me a check for the exact amount I had requested and then turned to leave.
Before he left, though, as he walked away, I saw one more thing..he turned towards me, with a thoughful look, and took one last glance at me in my dirty gas station rags, as I stood there in the morning light, hands on hips. A slow smile spread across his face and something else, a look of respect. As if he had never imagined he would find someone like me, but had after all.
He gave me a slow, respecful little bow and then walked slowly away.
I've thought a lot about that day since then....How would my life have changed had I taken the money? What if I had asked for the whole milion? I sure would have gotten it, but how would I have felt? I feel now, more and more sure as I grow older, that I dodged a bullet that day. That, by being true to myself, I somehow passed a test.
One thing's for sure. When I shave in the morning, I can look myself right in the eye...and smile.
So what do you think about people who file frivolous lawsuits, for example the woman who tried to defraud Wendy's, the burglar who sued the homeowner or the man who sued Winnebago because cruise control didn't keep him on the highway?
We've lost a lot of things to this kind of mentallity. Long-chained swings on the playground, merry-go-rounds, diving boards in hotel pools, jungle gyms.....and much more. Ther was a time when people realized that life was inherently risky, and personal respnsibility was the rule of the day. Can we get that back again? Or is it gone forever?
:wah: 
