I Have My Own Reasons

Many people find it strange that a man would choose to cover his head with a cardboard box (as I frequently do), rather than with a hat, but I figure that what I choose to put on my head is none of their business. As a trustworthy grownup and a longtime taxpayer (not to mention a descendant of European royalty and a free citizen of the cosmos), do I not have the right to wear a cardboard box on my head, if I should so desire? Besides, however strange it might appear to the suspicious eyes of other people, I can hereby proclaim, with a proud feeling of utter conviction, that I have my own reasons.

People may find it strange that I wear a cardboard box on my head, rather than a hat, but I do not care what they think. If I happen to enjoy the habit of wearing a cardboard box on my head, then what of it? Does the harmless act of wearing a cardboard box on my head make it necessary for me to be viewed with alarm, or to be regarded as being guilty of treason? Does a cardboard box on my head constitute a clear threat to the safety and happiness of the general public? People can think whatever they want to think of me, but as a strong-minded person who always makes his own choices, I have my own reasons.

If, as I have already acknowledged, many people tend to find it strange to observe me with a cardboard box on my head, rather than a hat, I can only presume the extreme degree to which they probably are inclined to look askance at me when I paint myself purple and play Ukrainian melodies on a banjo, which is my regular practice on the first Tuesday of every month. However, I can tell you, quite openly and in all honesty, that I am not unduly concerned by their particular manner of looking at me, whether it be askance or otherwise. I refuse to let it trouble me, because I have my own reasons for doing what I do.

A weaker man would, undoubtedly, follow the easy path, willingly submitting himself to the trifling obligations of petty conformity, but I maintain a policy of being ill-disposed toward all forms of servility. I prefer to be myself, such as I am. Once, a long time ago, when I was still in the unwary days of my foolish youth, I did briefly attempt to be someone else (a Japanese hypnotist, as I remember), but after a period of several weeks it proved to be an awkward situation that could not be sustained. Ever since that unfortunate error, I have been careful to steer a steady course of determined singularity, knowing that I have my own reasons, and believing them to be thoroughly honorable.

Let them look at me! Let them think whatever they want to think! Why should I care? If I am to be seen as an eccentric character (not that I am actually inclined to accept that unimaginative description, which I hold to be nothing more than a shameful example of common prejudice), does it require that I be summarily judged as having committed a punishable offense? If I elect to stand apart from the mindless crowd (sometimes while wearing a suit that is fashioned entirely from banana peels), does it diminish my integrity, or render me any less human? After all, I am fully entitled to have my own reasons.

More from Michael Collins Morton

Covid-19 Poses a Grievous Danger to Every Human Life

An Impartial Consideration of God, Offered in the Form of Eleven Questions and Eleven Answers

My Mother's Son (Part 3)

President Trump's War Against Iran Is Proving to Be a Hugely Expensive Undertaking

Ignatius Thrumbler Provides the Answers