Nutsy

My old man. He was born almost a hundred years ago, give or take a handful of years.
     I find that amazing.
     Myself, I'm closer to the end of my life than the beginning.  I'll only understand what my Dad's going through--how he feels--when I get there.
     When I was about 10 years-old I broke my leg doing something stupid.  Hey, I was a kid.  Doing stupid things was my job.  Have you ever heard of anybody breaking their leg doing something smart?
     I don't remember how I got to the hospital, but I do remember when I got there my Dad was already there, waiting for me.  He was dressed in his police uniform.  Some nurses may have looked at him and swooned, because my Dad was a pretty handsome guy, especially in his uniform, but, to me, I looked at him and just saw my Dad.  He lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the emergency room.  I don't know if I got special treatment, but when a police officer walks into an ER carrying a hurt child, doctors pay attention.
     I don't have the words to explain how safe I felt in his arms.  It was the last time in my life that I let myself feel like a baby.  My Dad held me, and I knew everything was going to be all right.
     It reminds me now of when my Dad used to drive us home late from a party or vacation.  With him behind the wheel I could fall asleep without a worry in the world.  I knew that Dad would get me home safely.
     That's why it's hard to see him grow old.  I remember the man he used to be, but I see the man he's become.  The same goes for me, I suppose.  In my heart I'm still 17 years-old, but when I get out of bed in the morning my body tells me otherwise. 
     Not to mention the mirror. 
     Just recently, I had an old girlfriend from high school call me at home.  My wife didn't appreciate that.  Somehow my old girlfriend got my phone number.  I suppose it wasn't too hard to do.  I'm in the phone book, after all.  Anyway, she just wanted to catch up.
     In the middle of our dating in high school, her family moved to Phoenix, AZ, so you could say  neither of us experienced closure.  Nothing gives you closure like breaking up, yelling at each other, and making sure the other person understands just how much you hate them.
     She gave my wife her name and number, and asked my wife to have me call her back.  I wanted to call her back, but, even though my wife said it would be okay, I never did.  Instead, I looked through my old high school yearbook.  There I saw pictures of my old girlfriend.  16-years-old.  In those pictures, and in my mind, she's still 16.  In the real world, she probably looks like one of my aunts.  And I've grown older, too.  I understand that.  I'm under no delusions. 
     So, the world turns.  Time nudges us forward, however unwillingly.  And we leave this world the way we enter it:  needing our diapers changed.
     Not my Dad, though.  He can hold his mud, as well as his water.  I have a picture of him when he served in the Army.  In it, he is lifting up two of his buddies on each of his arms.  My Dad was one buff hombre.  The way I still think of myself as that goofy kid back in high school, I know he still thinks of himself as that guy in that picture.
     Unfortunately, he owns a mirror, too.
     Not that long ago we were talking about something or another.  It was something I wanted to do, and something he didn't think I should do.  In fact, he was rather firm in his belief that I shouldn't do it.
     "C'mon, Dad," I told him, trying to impress him with my wisdom, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
     "Yeah, well, what doesn't kill you might make you stronger," my Dad said, "but it can still hurt you pretty bad."
     Sonuva...
     My old man.
     He impresses me without even trying.
     But it doesn't help that he refers to Nietzsche as Nutsy.
   
 

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