Tag Archives: luck

Side Effects

by Greg Hague

Life lessons from Chubby (my dad) and other smart folks I’ve met on the road.

side effects

Continued from yesterday’s story, The Cruelty in Passion:

“Greg,” Chubby said, “even with talent, hard work, passion, and some luck . . . you still might hate where you end up.”

“Why?” I asked with a puzzled look.

“You don’t see the side effects.” Chubby replied.  “It’s like eating fudge every day for a year. You know you’ll gain weight.  But you may not think about the other side effects, like the cost of buying bigger clothes, the heart attack risk, the tooth decay, and the strain on your knees.” 

Dad had a good point. Think in advance –

each plus and minus with all that I do.

Chubby continued,

“Greg, if your dream is to become a schoolteacher, that’s fine, but make sure you consider that you might not make big money doing it. 

Or, if your heart is set on becoming a commercial airline pilot, consider that it may not allow much time with your family.”

That last example really hit home. I absolutely loved to fly.  I was pretty darn good at it, and was fortunate enough to obtain my pilot’s license at 16. And, while a career in the air had seemed exciting and tempting to me, there were side effects I hadn’t considered that didn’t appeal.

The lesson I learned from Chubby that day?

Side effects . . . think pluses and minuses all the way through.


The Lucky Buck For His Newborn Son

“Luck is believing you’re lucky.”

—Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

Today’s story is from Blake Glovitz

Nov 4, 1983. 5:32 p.m. Baby in distress. The hospital PA, “Respiratory therapist, stat.” Newborn in trouble. Mom rushed to surgery. Emergency C-section. Premature birth. Lungs limp. Not a breath.

Newborn son

My dad Bob and me, the newborn son, Blake, 1983

They “bagged” my head. APGAR score “1” – the lowest there is…unless you are dead. I was rushed to neo-natal intensive care at Dallas Methodist Hospital. Dad followed by car, afraid and alone, worried about his newborn son.

When I arrived the doctor didn’t mince words, “Mr. Glovitz, your newborn is the sickest one here.” Three pound newbies. Heart surgery. Brain injured kids. I was the worst…least likely to live.