Midnight Court in Session

I love it when I wake up in the middle of the night and my brain decides it’s finally time to open the cold case file on that embarrassing comment I made on the radio in 1989. No warning, no warrant, just a full-blown mental trial at two in the morning, complete with witnesses, closing arguments, and a guilty verdict and execution before sunrise.

You’d think after all these years, my mind would’ve let that one go. But nope. Somewhere between the quiet outside and the hum of the refrigerator, the night shift in my brain clocked in, dusted off an old box labeled “Stupid Things I’ve Said,” and got to work.

It’s funny how memory works that way. I can’t remember where I put my glasses half the time, but that offhand comment from 36 years ago?

Clear as a bell. The human brain must have a sense of humor, or a mean streak; it’s hard to tell which.

Anyway, it was a live broadcast, and I was feeling clever. The trouble with “clever” is that it’s usually just stupidity wearing a tuxedo.

I tried to make a joke, something harmless, I thought, but it landed like a sack of wet cement. My cohost gave me a look you could hear through the static, and there I was, trying to crawl out of the radio speaker and hide under somebody’s couch.

Now, logically, I know nobody remembers that moment but me. Everyone else who heard it has probably forgotten, moved on, or died.

But tell that to the prosecutor that lives in my skull. He’s got a perfect record and wins every case.

I’ve learned, though, that embarrassment is just another form of humility. Life’s way of reminding you that you’re human and not half as smooth as you think you are.

The trick is learning to laugh at yourself before your brain does it for you. So when those old memories come creeping around, I try to treat them like stray dogs: toss them a biscuit of humor and send them on their way.

I tell myself, “You didn’t ruin your life that day, you just gave future-you some late-night entertainment.”

Maybe that’s what growing older is: realizing that most of what used to keep you awake at night isn’t worth losing sleep over. The world didn’t end because of one bad joke, one wrong word, or one awkward moment.

I still wake up sometimes, staring at the ceiling while my one brain cell replays that ancient broadcast. But these days, instead of cringing, I chuckle.

After all, if you can’t laugh at your own foolishness, you’ll never appreciate how far you’ve come from it. Besides, the jury’s still out, but I think I’m finally winning the case.