A timeline Through Losss

In high school, I had bad ankles.  It seemed that every time I took a misstep I would sprain one of the ankles.  It would hurt, then swell for a couple of days and then finally heal.

But it was ok, because I  had awesome hair.  It was truly great hair, with almost a little spike going down the middle.  I even had to brush it, a task that I didn't spend much time on because I was young and had great hair and bad ankles.  My girlfriend would run her fingers through it, men would want to.  I sometimes considered growing it long to shock society and with my awesome young rebelliousness.

Then I started losing my hair, very young.  Each day just a little would leave me and circle down the drain or where ever lost hair goes, probably to the island of lost toys where they make wreaths out of it.  Soon, I started to notice that I was losing my hair, that my hairline was slowly creeping backward in the greatest retreat of life.  I thought that perhaps it was falling and sticking to my chest, which was becoming much more hairy.  I had very little chest hair in high school.  By the time I left college, the hair on my head was about gone and the hair on my chest was a forest.

But it was ok that I was losing my hair because I had strength, great strength, almost Hulk-like. I had played football in high school and lifted a lot of weights in college.  I had grown into my body, a hairy chested man with large forearms.  I used to lift heavy stuff just to try and impress Hossmom.  I moved her 6 different times when we were younger just so I could lift up the big chair.  I just wouldn't lift it, I would lift it over my head like it was a paperweight.  I would carry it up 3 flights of stairs while my future wife looked on.  Then I would put it down and if I caught her looking again, I would lift it up again.  However, life happens and I stopped lifting weights, I stopped lifting heavy things.  We got married and thought about having kids.  We moved again and I assured Hossmom that I could move a lot of it myself, who needs movers when you are as strong as me?  Then I tried to lift a very awkward entertainment center and put it in the basement of our house.  Strong me would have just hoisted the bitch up and carried it down.  However, somehow I lost my strength.  I could get it about halfway before the trembles would start.  I couldn't complete the maneuver.  I set it down and noticed that my back started to hurt as well.  I had to slide it on carpet to move it.  I was a bit humiliated but still told Hossmom that I had lifted it with no problems.  Except for the awesome pain in my back.

But it was ok because even though my young strenght had left me, like my good ankles and hair, I still had great knees.  This was a big deal to me because I had seen a lot of friends always complain about thier knees and some even had to have surgery.  With all my sports, my knees made it through great.  Torn ACL?  You can't tear steel cable,s baby.  My knees were good, they were great, they carried me with purpose from one place to the next, annoucing authortiy each step.  I played a softball game and did well, I think I even wrote about it.  I hadn't played in a while but no worries, I was good.  The next morning, I couldn't walk.  My knees hurt.  They were swollen.  I had to actually ice them for 3 days.  I had never done this before in my life.  Hurting knees suck ass.

But it was ok because my eyesight was great, the last bastion of my youth.  Bald, no young strength, bad knees and glass ankles.  My eyesight was always a little pride and joy.  Everyone was talking about getting surgery, so happy they didn't have to wear glasses.  I couldn't relate to them and I was happy about that.  I don't want some wierd laser cutting my eyeballs.  It sounded more like torture.  My eyesight was great, eagle like.  One night driving home Hossmom asked me why I was squinting.  Was I?  Apparently I was and  I noticed that things at night were harder to see clearly, words on signs were more blurry than a young man should see them.  I went to the doctor next week and he confirmed to me that I was no longer 18 and needed glasses.

But it was ok.  Bald, bad knees, no strength, glass ankles and glasses.  But at least I didn't have any hair in my ears, the sure sign that you are old and crazy.  No hair in these ears, I can still claim that I am young.  Sure, I think teens should get haircuts and jobs.  I think speed limits and curfews are great ideas.  I think that politics can be very interesting.  I think today's music lacks any heart and meaning, give me the classics of grunge.  But no hair in the ears thus allowing me to claim that I am still young and hip.

I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror.  Something was there that wasn't there before, just sticking out of my ear.


1 comment:

  1. Aging is a real bitch. She takes away your dignity and then points and laughs.. Sometimes she kicks you in the nuts just for the fun of it. (Or teaches your children to apparently?) ;)