What the Hell Happened to Splinters?
   Okay, I’m just sitting around thinking about my next op/ed piece when I suddenly realize that I haven’t had a splinter in probably five years.  I remember when I was a kid, my whole life revolved around splinters, although I only realize that now. 
   The sole fear I had was getting splinters, and the most difficult thing I ever had to do until I was 12 was remove a splinter from a finger or toe.  This of course was a daunting task because, as I was told many times by my elders, if the splinter penetrated the skin too far it would enter my bloodstream and go straight to my heart and I would die.  So I would ever-so-carefully pick at the skin until the tiny shard popped out.  Then, moments later, without fail, I’d have another.
   What ever happened to them?  I realize that I climbed trees and fences a lot more then, but now I build all kinds of crazy wooden shit, and no splinters to speak of.  I long for the days when I had to surgically remove those deadly blades from my skin. 
   I never thought much about them as a child, but I now respect them, wherever they may be (probably affecting the new generation of fence-climbing, homemade bow-wielding menaces).  I must express my veneration for splinters, who challenged my character and strength as I grew.  And even though I will likely never encounter them again, my wind will always echo the word "Splinter"...