Parents are funny. It’s as if, at the moment they first lay eyes on their offspring, their brains get affixed with an “Obsessive Worry” mechanism that kicks into overdrive every time the child approaches physical danger. Yes, I know — I haven’t experienced the existential joys that are procreation and child-raising, so there’s no way I could come within a football fields length of comprehending one iota of the experience, etc. etc. Still, the single-minded focus that parents cultivate is fascinating. It’s as if their minds can only process one horrible life-threatening potential catastrophe at a time. Fixate on a specific worry, then flog it to extinction. Case in point:

“Hi Mom.”

“Hi Dear. Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Yeah, it was fun. I went biking in Central Park. Then I went to dinner and-”

“Biking?!! On the street in New York City!!? Did you wear a helmet??!!”

“Uh, no.”

“Don’t you know how dangerous that is!!?”

“Mom, it was fine, really. Anyway then we went to this art gallery–”

“People can die from bike accidents! It happens all the time. I knew this woman once who was in medical school. She was riding her bike to school, and she got hit by a truck–”

“Yeah, anyway, we wanted to see this one art show but it was closed–”

“–can you believe it, a truck! The driver wasn’t paying attention or something and didn’t see her–”

“–but there was this other gallery opening going on and we both figured we’d check it out–”

“–and she was only a week away from graduation–”

“–except that I lost my friends so I ended up wandering around this dark abandoned alley alone in completely flight-prohibitive heels–”

“–and she was killed instantly.”

“–so I ran into the middle of the crowded street and hailed a cab by hurling my body in its path–”

“It was so horrible. She never even got to graduate.”

“–and then I went home and topped off the night by freebasing some crack and licking a few ping pong balls dipped in petri dishes full of Hepatitis C.”

“Yes but what about your helmet!”