Still Standing (Slightly Tilted): Vol. 1 – I Never Had a Chance and Vol. 2 – Dares Were My Love Language

Yesterday I shared a story that unlocked a memory from the late ’70s—one that earned me a grounding that, at the time, felt like a life sentence.

Before we go any further, a quick clarification for the record: My sister Debbie Sturgill (KCMO)… not to be confused with my other sister, Deborah Sturgill (Kentucky).

With a setup like that, I never really had a shot at a quiet life.

Back then, we had one family phone. One. Shared. No caller ID, no cell phones—just a coiled cord, limited privacy, and unlimited opportunity for bad decisions.

My sister was deep into her Tiger Beat phase—crushing on Leif Garrett and every other feathered-hair heartthrob smiling off those glossy pages. Meanwhile, SuperQ 104 out of KCMO was running a promotion: win a date with Leif Garrett.

Naturally… I chose chaos. Enter my co-conspirator, Jeff Waechter—a man who had been perfecting his “DJ voice” like it was a full-time job. “Helloooo, it’s Johnny Rock ‘N Roland…” on repeat, whether anyone asked for it or not.

The big moment was set for 7:00 p.m. sharp. Dramatic countdown. Ten… nine… eight…

With what we believed was Navy SEAL-level precision, Jeff dialed the first six digits of our home phone number. We hovered… waiting… timing it perfectly "…three… two… one—”

He hit the final digit, and our phone rang. My sister answered, fully convinced destiny—and Leif Garrett—had finally found her. What followed was less “fairytale ending” and more “family reckoning.”

Her heart broke. I caught a few well-earned slaps. My parents delivered a lecture that probably could’ve been syndicated. And I was grounded for a month. Officially.

Unofficially? About 16–17 days. Turns out, the real punishment wasn’t my confinement—it was their extended exposure to me. They tapped out early.

Looking back, that probably should’ve been the moment I learned a valuable life lesson. It was not.

Because that wasn’t a one-off. That was an origin story. I grew up in a world where we made our own fun, pushed our luck, and occasionally crossed the line between “creative” and “what in the world were you thinking?”

And more often than not… I was right there at the front of the line. Still am, if I’m being honest. Looking back now, I can see it clearly: I didn’t stumble into chaos. I had a natural gift for it. Somehow—by grace, luck, or sheer stubbornness—I’m still standing. Not perfectly straight. Not without a few dents. But standing… just with a slight tilt.

And a long list of stories that prove…This was just the beginning.

If Vol. 1 was about where it started, Vol. 2 is about how it escalated.

Somewhere along the way, I developed a personal philosophy that served me… inconsistently at best: If there’s a dare—take it. If there’s a bad idea, at least hear it out. If someone says, “You won’t…” Well… now we’ve got a situation.

Case in point: a rugby trip to the University of Arkansas. Somewhere between loading the bus and arriving in Fayetteville, a challenge was issued involving something called “Quick Silver.”

Now, I didn’t know what Quick Silver was. I didn’t ask what Quick Silver was. I just knew there was a dare… and apparently, that was all the information I needed. What I remember next is trying to say “Oh… my… God…” in slow motion while my brain felt like it was being squeezed from the inside out. Immediate splitting headache. Lights out. Lesson learned? Not even close.

If there was a scoreboard for questionable decisions, I was trying to run it up. Take the goldfish saga.

Yes—live goldfish. Somewhere along the line, a reward system was established:

1 goldfish = a beer
2 goldfish = a six-pack
4 goldfish = a full case

I went for the case. The first two? Rough. They fought back. There are sensations you don’t forget, and that’s one of them. By the third, I had… adapted my approach. I’m not proud of that moment. But I’m also not going to pretend I didn’t commit to the process. Let’s just say… I earned the case.

And it wasn’t just organized stupidity—it was everyday opportunities too. Fork in a light socket? Sure. Licking a frozen pole? Why not. If there was a bad decision wrapped in curiosity and peer pressure, I was at least in the conversation.

Looking back, it’s easy to shake your head at all of it. The dares. The decisions. The complete absence of a pause button. But here’s the thing… At that age, you don’t think you’re being reckless. You think you’re being alive. You think you’re building stories. You think nothing can actually happen to you. Somehow—through a combination of luck, timing, and probably a guardian angel working overtime—most of the time… it didn’t.

Now? I’ve traded dares for better judgment (mostly). The stakes are different. The perspective is different. But the stories? Those stuck.

And every once in a while, I look back at that version of me—the one who never backed down, never thought twice, and somehow made it through anyway—and I can’t decide if I should shake my head… or thank him for giving me something to write about. 

Because in the end, that’s really what this is: A long list of moments that probably should’ve gone differently… but didn’t. Somehow… I’m still standing. Still a little tilted. But standing all the same.