Pull Tabs and Litterbugs

When I write, I often draw on examples and memories from my formative years, the 1970s. For me, nostalgia resides in a brick rancher, nestled up on a hill in a small neighborhood where everyone knew everyone’s business, wore bell bottoms and corduroys, either loved or hated disco music, and religiously listened to Casey Kasem’s Weekly Top 40.

If you’re like me, you remember the most random things from the era in which you grew up—television commercials, popular candies, toys, and things like how, at school, dodgeball was commonly—and, for us unathletic types, accurately—referred to as Murderball. Not only are my memories completely random, but they also pop into my brain at completely random times, which is what happened to me this morning.

There I was, minding my own business, doing things around the house, when I remembered the pull tabs on aluminum beverage cans—and that, at some point, way back when, someone said they were dangerous, and the next thing you know, stay-on tabs began making their appearance.

What happened after this random thought came was the same thing that always leads to me writing a blog. The random thought collides with life experience, something clicks, and I stop whatever I’m doing to write. I say I like to strike while the iron is hot, but I have to admit that I do it right then because if I don’t, I’ll lose inspiration, forget what I wanted to say, or both.

Anyway…back to the pull tabs.

Before pull tabs, if you wanted to open a can, you needed a tool called a church key, which was no big deal, I’m sure, unless you found yourself in dire need of a cold one with no key available. So, an innovative (and probably thirsty) gent named Ermal Fraze designed and patented the pull tab in the early 1960s, thereby eliminating the need to keep a kitchen tool on your keyring.

Eventually, though, problems arose with the pull tab. Those suckers were sharp and just the right size to be swallowed by kids or pets. If everyone had listened to Woodsy Owl—gave a hoot and didn’t pollute—then the risk of little Jane swallowing a sharp, aluminum tab while eating her PB & J, or Dad slicing his toe wide open at the beach and ending up in the ER getting it sewn up, may not have been a concern. But, alas, litterbugs existed amongst us—and so, the danger of the pull tab became a real thing.

Instead of reverting to the need for a church key—or worse, stop manufacturing beverages in cans—the Falls City Brewing Company introduced the stay-on tab in 1975, which is still the go-to tab on nearly any can you’ll open today. Even though the original tab itself wasn’t the issue—the problem was what irresponsible and thoughtless humans did with the pull tabs —it still had to be changed. And this is where random thought meets life experience.

It got me thinking—not just about pull tabs, but about people, and how often it’s not the thing itself that hurts us, but the careless hands it ends up in. In life, there will always be people who behave thoughtlessly and irresponsibly with their fellow human beings—there’s just no escaping that. And just like Ermal Fraze didn’t foresee that litterbugs might be the demise of his ingenious invention, when we first meet someone, we don’t know how they’ll end up treating us.

We don’t know if they’ll treat us with care or if, like litterbugs with pull tabs, they’ll mindlessly toss us aside once they feel we’ve served our purpose. If someone turns out to be the type who does the latter, do we just give up—stop making new friends, never date again? In theory, we can do that, and maybe it’s the safest way to protect our hearts, but who wants to live like that? Instead, we can do what the beverage companies did—rather than foolishly relying on others to do the right thing, we work to change the part of ourselves that lets them believe they have the choice.

I wholeheartedly realize this is easier said than done. But it’s also completely unrealistic to expect that everyone who comes into your life will treat you with the care you deserve. Just like with the cans, the solution didn’t focus on trying to change people’s behaviors—it was about redesigning the tabs so no one else would step on them and get hurt. It’s the same with your heart. It’s not about teaching someone to be careful with it. It’s about taking away their ability to make it bleed. Because after all, love shouldn’t come with stitches.

P.S. For your viewing pleasure:

https://youtu.be/gZB7gSQRIuM?si=tT48mKBQwh1jw_wr