When I was a kid, we didn't have insurance, we had something better: Amazing moms

When I was a kid, nobody ever got hurt really badly and I just now figured out why: None of us had insurance.

One day I put a rusty nail right through my right foot, the nail was on a board and since I couldn't run with a board attached to my foot, I pulled it out and ran home.

Another time, I was riding a steer out at uncle Emil's farm (I know that can be confusing, every North Dakota squarehead had at least one uncle Emil) and the steer on which I was a passenger got too close to a barbed wire fence and I ended up with a huge and really bloody gash on my ankle, so I ran up to the farmhouse with a bright red shoe and sock on that foot.

Another time, I was riding kind of goofy-like on my bike, the fork broke and I put my chin on the sidewalk a little harder than was pain-free, so I ran home. The reason I always ran home was because that is where Dr. Mom ran her emergency care practice. The one time I didn't get up and run home was when I was run over and sustained a broken leg. I didn't run home that time because Dr. Mom happened to be driving the car that went over my legs and she was in no mood to set and cast a broken leg.

I cut an orange in half one day and didn't stop cutting until I hit bone.

Dr. Mom happened to be right there in the house that time, so she made a bandage out of a clean white cloth, which she cut just so, and used the tail ends of the cloth as the method by which she tied the bandage to my finger. In spite of these and many other bloody incidents, the only doctor I ever saw until I was a freshman in college was the old-fashioned chiropractor my parents took me to when I had the lack of foresight to stay out from under the car. I was two-and-a-half and still remember everything, including being fitted with a cast that went from below my knee to around my hip. To this very day, I still like little red wagons because I scored one that week and to add joy to acquisition, my sister had to pull me all over town in it because I couldn't walk.

Those of us that were alive in that era have to chuckle at the fact there is an insurance crisis these days. There are millions of children who have no insurance and are at risk. When I was a kid, just getting up in the morning put the average kid at risk. Many of us wore those homemade bandages for two reasons: We did things that would draw blood practically every week, and two: Band-Aids had not yet been invented.

The fact of the matter is, kids who are hurt still depend on Dr. Mom, and the ones who need more than Dr. Mom have access to professional help at practically any hospital.

The biggest problem we have now is the fact we have legislators who are really adept at only two things: 1. Doing nothing. 2. Completely overreacting to practically everything else.

I swear, if the California politicians could put a cop in every home to police everything the people who live there did, they would.

Of course, once arrested, the judges would let everyone off the hook anyway, so the circle of accomplishing exactly nothing would be complete.

I know this is called "preaching to the choir" as far as you squareheads are concerned, and an affront to good taste and decorum to the rest of you.

What I resent is the constant use of the word "crisis." Everything that isn't going as well as the politicians and the media thinks it should.

I'm reminded of the kid who wouldn't talk. He didn't say a word for six years. One morning as he was eating breakfast, he said, "Mom, this toast is really burned."

The mother practically screamed as she cried, "You talked! You talked! Why haven't you said anything before?"

The kid said, "Nothin's ever been wrong before, mom."

There is plenty wrong now, and the governor is going about the budget crisis exactly backwards: He should make the legislators live on minimum wage and take away the cars and other perks, period. Maybe the message would register a little more quickly. The rest of us know when the fiscal years ends, why don't they?

Bob Bader is a Lodi writer and chiropractor.