I met Greg early one day on the front steps at school many years ago when we were both young. The fashion trend back then was to wear white pants that fit as tightly as possible. Greg’s white pants were so tight that he could hardly sit down in them.

I made fun of him and his tight pants as young people often do. I just knew his pants would split open during the school day. He bet me a nickel that they wouldn’t.

When school started and we filed into school, I remember how he took great care to sit down. He slid ever so gently into his chair showing more grace and athleticism than I thought he possessed. He had to sit down slowly or else his pants would split.

I chuckled as I watched his soft landing into his school desk chair. He couldn’t continue to move so slowly and gracefully for the rest of the day. I smiled as I knew I was going to be a nickel richer. A nickel – that was milk money back then.

I mention this story because my mother had taught me that I could make my own "choices" in life. But, she warned me that all choices have consequences, some good and others not so good, and I that should be prepared to accept the responsibility and consequences of the choices I make.

There are so many choices and decisions we face in our lifetime. For an older person, these decisions may include whether it is safe to continue to drive or whether to move into a smaller home or apartment after the children are grown and gone.

Sometimes it seems that as we get older our choices are limited. Usually, however, there actually are more choices than we realize. It may be a matter of seeking out more information, consulting with others, and then deciding what is best for us; basing our decision both on the facts of the situation and our own needs or preferences.

The lesson about choices that my mother taught me years ago were really about decision making and taking responsibility. I could make my own choices, whether good or bad, as long as I accepted the consequences of my choices without blaming others.

Alas, my friend Greg’s tight pants never did split open that day when we were young, so many years ago. At the end of that school day I knew I owed him a nickel, but I didn’t have one to spare as I had spent my last one on milk at lunchtime.

I ran home after school so he couldn’t catch me and try to collect on my failed bet. I got away from him because I was very fast, and because his pants were so tight that he couldn’t run without splitting them wide open.

Even now when I talk to him he reminds me that I never paid him that nickel I owed him. Personally, I believed that the dread and sorrow I felt about losing a nickel to Greg was punishment enough. It was another lesson learned.

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