As I gaze down the list of prescribed Collegian column topics I see I have already checked off a few:

--The Media is Powerful.

--Peace is Good.

--Republicans are Bad.

But I have not yet attempted that ultimate challenge, the Whimpering Tribute to Mom, Dad or Siblings.

This, perhaps the most over used of all column categories, is also the most ridiculous. How many times have you turned to this page to find someone cooing and sighing about their struggling mother or understanding father? There's usually a central anecdote -- "Mom wouldn't let me set the cat on fire when I was 6. I was furious at the time, but now I understand she was right." This is followed by an attempt to draw some universal conclusion from the situation -- "I owe my respect for all life, especially cats, to the moral guidance of my mother."

Now, come on. Besides the cat's immediate family and a few people at the ASPCA, does anyone really care? Just because these writers are too lazy to actually go out and research the death penalty or something, we have to read their sentimental tripe about family and friends. It's enough to drive you to the Centre Daily Times.

But, in the spirit of Collegian tradition, and because I was too lazy to go out and research the death penalty, I have decided to give this family stuff a shot. Here we go. . .

As I sit here at the computer, facing an imminent graduation and an even more imminent column deadline, my mind wanders back to the carefree days of my childhood. Oh, the things I have learned since then. And so many of them, it strikes me, due to the wise counsel of my mother, father and sister. For instance:

AGE 4: A hot day in Rochester, NY, probably summer. Everyone but me was outside. I was thirsty, and about 6 inches short of the kitchen sink. In an attempt at self-sufficiency, I looked for alternate sources of water. Idea: the fire extinguisher in the front hall. All the firemen in those Golden Books always used water. Aha.

I picked up the hose, put it in my mouth, and pulled the lever. Oh, the misery -- I had been betrayed by my trust in children's literature. I got a mouthful of highly pressurized foamy stuff that almost knocked me down and sent me outside screaming. Here's where the family comes in -- my ever-composed and caring mother promptly called Poison Control. The remedy, it turned out, was fairly simple: a full glass of vinegar, to be ingested immediately.

THE LESSON: Don't believe a word in those kids' books, and always use a test subject before committing yourself to anything. Which leads to my next case. . .

AGE 5: Another hot day. I had grown a little bit, enough to reach the bathroom sink. My 4-year-old sister, though, was still seeing things from near floor level. She wanted a drink. Poor Sarah.

I filled her cup innocently, with no malicious intent. Then I saw the bottle of bleach. I picked it up -- almost empty. Hmmm. . . I took the cap off and poured whatever was left of the clear fluid into the cup, and handed it to my wide-eyed, unsuspecting, adoring sister. She drank the whole thing and didn't bat an eye. I got a little worried -- if she died, I might get in trouble. I went running for Mom again, who was caring and composed as usual. Another call to Poison Control (I don't know where my family would be without those fine folks). No major damage, but to this day Sarah has the palest skin in the family.

THE LESSON: Earlier hypothesis confirmed: It really was much better to use a test subject. Which means. . .

STILL AGE 5: My first foray into the world of science, unless you count the previous experiences as chemical engineering. I was sitting in my parents bedroom, reading my dad's huge store of Uncle Scrooge comic books, when I noticed the light bulb near my face was giving off heat. Huh. Now, it seemed to me that if water could put out a fire, which I stubbornly believed despite the extinguisher incident, it might do interesting things to a hot light bulb.

I went to the bathroom and filled a cup with cold water. I called for my sister, and she came running. She was so cute then, so happy, so gullible. "Here," I said. "Go pour this on the light bulb in Mom and Dad's room."

She was getting smarter -- "Why?"

"Just because."

"What's gonna happen?"

"I dunno." Which was only partly false, but I knew enough to stand well out of the room while she toddled in to fulfill her mission. The next thing I remember was a hissing crash, and Sarah tearing out of the now-dark room screaming at the top of her lungs. She set a land-speed record for 4-year-olds.

This time it was Dad who talked to me, and while he is certainly as composed and caring as Mom, I think he decided a sterner tone was needed if my sister was going to make it to age 5. It really didn't matter, though, because from that day on Sarah looked at me suspiciously if I even asked her to pass the salt. The innocence was gone from her eyes for good.

THE LESSON: You can fool some of the little sisters some of the time, but they're liable to hold it against you.

And if that isn't a strong moral basis for a healthy, productive life, I don't know what is. Too often, we forget these things, and we don't give credit to the wonderful people who shape our lives.

So there they are -- Mom, Dad and Sarah. I can't say "God Bless Them," because my parents are Buddhists and my sister's an agnostic, but I would if I could. The things they taught me cannot be learned in any books -- especially those misleading ones about firemen --and I certainly owe my careful avoidance of toxic chemicals and hot surfaces to their loving wisdom.

In Two Weeks: The death penalty, or something. . .