When I Get There

My father was born almost a hundred years ago, give or take a decade. I find that amazing. Myself, although I'm closer to the end of my life than the beginning, I'll only understand what he's going through when I get there.

When I was 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 father was already there, waiting for me. He was dressed in his policeman's uniform. Some nurses may have looked at him and swooned, because my father 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 hospital.

I don't have the words to explain how safe I felt in his arms. It was the last time in my life I let myself feel like a baby. My father held me and I knew everything was going to be all right.

It reminds me of when my father used to drive us home late at night after a party or from a vacation. With him behind the wheel I could fall asleep without a worry in the world. I knew he would get us 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 guess it wasn't too hard to do. 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. The yelling at each other and making sure the person you can't live without 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 at 16. In my mind, just like in those pictures, she's still that age. In the real world, she probably looks like one of my aunts. 

I'm under no delusions.

I know I've grown older, too. 

I understand that 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 father, though. 

He can still hold his mud, as well as his water. I have a picture of him when he served in the Army. In it, he is holding up two of his buddies as they hang on each of his arms. My father was pretty ripped. 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.

Not that long ago we were talking about something I wanted to do, but it was 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, pop," I told him, trying to impress him with my wisdom, "you've heard of Nietzsche, haven't you."

"Who?"

"Nietzsche."

"Nutsy?"

"No, Nietzsche. He said, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'"

"Yeah, well," my father answered, "what doesn't kill you might make you stronger, but it can still hurt you pretty bad."

Sonuva... 

My old man. 

He impresses me without even trying.