One tends to get a little cocky when one excels in a particular arena. And the arrogance isn’t limited to sports stars, actors and evening newscasters – even those of us who live meaningless lives are prone to a fit of egotism now and then.

Men, I’ve found, are more often susceptible to fits of haughtiness than women, even if the fairer sex (is that sexist?) spend many more hours in front of the mirror than we do.

I’ve always subscribed to the Muhammed Ali theory that “It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it,” but throughout my nearly 49 years on this planet I’ve discovered there’s a razor-thin line between conceit and overconfidence.

Much like…I don’t know… these idiots who strap-on ‘flying suits’, jump off cliffs or out of airplanes, and plan to land gracefully on the ground without the help of a parachute.

We saw one such ma-roon on the “Today Show” the other morning. We watch the “Today Show” because we just adore financial experts with extensive stock portfolios telling us to sock away cash for our retirement even if it means skipping a couple weeks worth of meals.

Just once I’d like to visit the world these folks live in.

Anyway, Skippy the Flying moron filmed his latest bird-like exploit, and his camera captured each and every thud as the aerial acrobat ricocheted off a pair of rugged, canyon walls. He broke a couple of bones and tore off a few layers of skin, but remained nonplussed about future flying attempts.

He even shared with the sleepy-eyed morning audience that this wasn’t the first time his ‘hobby’ had landed him in the emergency ward.

This is more than smugness, and much more than overconfidence. This is a glutton for punishment.

You know the type: a GFP walks this earth intent on making the kind of decisions that never end well – like mowing the lawn without shoes, playing cowboys and Indians with a nail-gun or walking through a neighborhood in Baltimore that’s not the Inner Harbor.

I think I might be a candidate for such GFP branding. In fact, if anyone out there reading this has more than one child, I’d say the masochist tag applies to you, too.

So as we gathered for yet another Sunday family get-together, I was in the kitchen readying the afternoon meal. The grand urchin always joins me for the dinner ritual - we goof around with spatulas and measuring spoons and such, and I like teaching the little guy how to dump in seasonings, stir macaroni salad and what constitutes the correct ratio of Scotch to ice in grandpa’s glass.

I’m thinking he’ll be fetching repeated tumblers for me before he hits his 5th birthday.

So, as little Justin and I are gathering the vegetables for our munchie tray, he turns his attention to his own little veggies and begins to pinch the area of his body that future females in his life will accuse him of thinking with.

Now with male children of a certain age (and certainly male adults), this sort of motion has various meanings. It could be a matter of a simple comfort adjustment, or the male in question could be making sure he didn’t mistakenly leave them somewhere – like in his wife’s purse.

But with a little boy, this grabbing endeavor can mean but one thing: the little dude had to wee-wee.

“Do you have to pee, Justin?”

“Yes,” came the pained reply.

Now keep in mind that my grandson has yet to cross that diaper-to-toilet threshold, therefore, his rush to the loo created quite a clamor in the family room.

Once in the bathroom and devoid of undergarments (him, not me), I propped the gnome atop the bowl and hoped for the best (I certainly wasn’t hoping for number two, mainly because of my supporting position).

We talked about politics, the weather and the volatile stock market and then: viola, pee!

And while Justin ran back into the living room pants-less (and to thunderous applause), I strolled out of the bathroom like I’d just strapped on a flying suit and stuck a parachute-less landing at the bottom of a canyon.

‘See, this potty-training stuff isn’t so tough,’ I heard myself say, ‘I think it’s time you kids give us a couple more grandchildren.’

Yep, the difference between cockiness and masochism is mighty thin indeed.

By J. Doug Gill