Poking the Bear

Musings of an Aging Mind

By Jack Bagley

Last Monday, on President’s Day, I had cinnamon spice oatmeal for breakfast.
Normally, of course, that isn’t news. That isn’t even worthy of a mention in passing.  But this time, it was different.
You see, the last time I had cinnamon spice oatmeal for breakfast was the morning of July 31, 2025.  During that meal, I had a heart attack. (True, I treated it as if it were acid reflux, and it was four days before I did anything about it, but that’s another story – one I’ve already told in this space.)
I’m happy to report that history did not repeat itself, and I didn’t have another attack while enjoying my cinnamon spice repast.
But it was definitely an episode of “poking the bear.”
You’re aware of what poking the bear means, I shall assume. But if you aren’t, it’s a euphemism for doing something that you know could have disastrous consequences – like poking a sleeping bear with a stick.
As soon as the bear wakes up, the consequences become obvious.
It turns out that I’ve been poking the bear about a lot of things during the course of my life.
Back in elementary school in Chicago, I was the “class clown,” always looking for the laugh from my classmates – usually at the teacher’s expense. Sometimes, when I’d make a comment or joke around, I realized I was poking the bear … and occasionally, the bear would rise and bite.
I hate to think about how many detentions I had to serve because there were moments when, craving laughter from my classmates, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
At home, too, I’d poke the bear. My father was a rather serious fellow, who did not brook anything remotely resembling disrespect. I can recall one dinner at our kitchen table when I needled him about something, and finally I’d poked the bear one time too often, and he threw the cap of a soy sauce bottle at me.
While it startled me, it didn’t hurt, but I got the message.  Besides, what if he’d thrown the bottle?
My broadcasting career is loaded with episodes of poking the bear. During my first couple of years on the air, I made a comment about a recall of Rolls-Royces: “They don’t actually recall them because they break down.  They simply ‘fail to proceed.’  That’s what mine did, anyway.”  Silly throwaway comment, right?
The owner of the station – who was rich enough to have a Rolls-Royce if he wanted one – took exception to my comment. He basically said that if I made another comment like that, I could seek employment elsewhere.
I waited until the owner was out of town before I did another poke-the-bear joke, offering a contest where the winner was the one who got me drunk the fastest. (I didn’t drink then and I don’t drink now, but the gag was pretty funny.)
When the owner heard about it later, he just shrugged and said there wasn’t anything he could do. Another survival of my meeting the bear with a stick.
Sometimes, we understand, the bear does rear up and roar.
During my time in teaching, I became an expert at poking the bear, especially when the powers-that-be jumped on whatever popular educational bandwagon was making the rounds. I was the one who said that without time, training and tracking, we’d never know if that particular bandwagon helped students or not, since we didn’t stay with it long enough.
The roars from the bear were louder than ever.
I’ve even poked the bear here in the newspaper business, but much more gently. At my age, one does not start over, so my poking the bear is very subtle and gentle and not noticed.
I hope.
Poking the bear, as I’m sure you know, can be a very dangerous thing to do. It could result in anything from a sore jaw and a short nap to unemployment … or even death. The bear doesn’t always win, but when it does, it’s messy.
Remember … if you choose to do this, be ready for the result: