Dad

In the time that once was in places that no longer exist the other husband never wondered or worried about being asked “How Would I Explain That?”

The funny part is in some ways the question was more important and of higher priority than it is/was now. But life is a twisty road filled with bends, dips and crazy drivers so just when you think you have seen/experienced it you come across something new.

Maybe it is because when the one from California is in Texas and hears the echoes of the past seeping in the present and wonders about if the ringing of the bells is merely a ghost shaking off dust or if it is something else.

It’s easier and smarter to call the poltergeist of the past a shade who cannot walk in sunlight and whose light is the same as that which comes from distant stars.

A memory of a time that was.

Yet there is that funny feeling that says those who walk in spaces and places he has been might discover something that causes a familiar and perhaps unwelcome stirring in the belly.

I was tempted to mention this to someone yet I came to the conclusion there was no way to do so because it was a how would I explain that kind of thing.

The funny thing about it is that two hours from now when I am assuredly wearing my superhero mask with my head upon my pillow others miles away may contemplate upon these words.

Or maybe not.
What Stone

Shall We Pick?

I shouldn’t have been surprised by my response to being asked to review options and choices for the stone that will mark Dad’s final resting place.

Shouldn’t have been surprised at how the memories and feelings began to wash across me as if they were a giant wave and how much came with it.

It didn’t just bring a few things to the surface, it brought a tsunami of material so I planted my feet in the water and stood my ground.

The younger Mr.Wilner barked at me because he thought the edge in my voice was unfair and when I raised my eyes and caught him he looked away.

Looked away not knowing as I did that he was experiencing something I had been through more the once

That silent glare that made it clear you ought to stop speaking and back away slowly because the fuse had been lit. Come forwar and testing your will was a guarantee of a gargantuan response.

Never physical, but it could be a very significant storm and every Wilner man I have ever known has been aware that his father could peel away the skin within seconds.

You never wanted to be on the wrong side of it.

Knowing as I did what had set me off I did the younger man the courtesy of keeping my eyes upon the screen because I knew I wasn’t ready to speak and really didn’t want to blast him.

He didn’t deserve it and for those few moments I knew the edge would come right out and it was better not to share it.

The old man had told me more than once that I had been particularly adept at not walking away when he was trying to give me an out.

Somewhere in the midst of my workout the memories made me smile, bittersweet though they were.

“Dad, you remember I was the kid who would hit something and scream because it hurt. Served me well on a couple of occasions.”

“You’re lucky you never got arrested.”

“No, I am lucky I never got seriously hurt.”

My younger Mr. Wilner is smarter than I was, far less likely to find himself in those situations.

****

Part of me doesn’t flinch about picking a stone and determining what text should be upon it.

There aren’t enough words to share all that we would want to say and so we have to find the few that sum up a life in a way that provides comfort to us.

I talked to Dad about it once and he was the one who looked at me and said it didn’t matter.

“I’ll be dead. Pick something that will make your mother and sisters happy.”

I smiled and said, “Here is proof that his eldest son, the favorite child didn’t kill him through nunsense.”

That might not be an exact quote, but it is close enough and the word is spelled exactly as he pronounced it, nunsense.” Some have heard me say it and asked for an explanation and I always said that is how The Big O said it.

Forty-nine years of life with him and I never heard it said differently.

Our Hands

Hans Zimmer accompanies me on this journey and I think about how we carried my father’s casket down a grassy incline, the children and spouses plus the two oldest grandsons.

I took the front left, though I am right handed and silently told dad that if someone’s grip slipped or if their heel stuck in the mud that I would somehow stop him from being dropped and flipped out of the casket.

It was a ridiculous and morbid thought but I have a sick and twisted sense of humor. As we walked there was a moment where I imagined it was like rocket ship that was being launched into space.

Kal-El sends Jor-El off or some kind of silly nunsense like that.

****

As we gathered I looked at my son’s hands and mine and smiled, ‘cuz we got dad’s hands.

My daughter complains sometimes that she got grandpa’s hands, but she really didn’t. And the fact is neither of them got his feet.

I got the hands, the feet and the shoulders…more or less.

The only son, I am very much my own person but those parts of me make it easy to see him. Sometimes I look down at the keys tapping upon the keyboard and think about how they used to be so much smaller than his.

When the hell would my hands finally be bigger?

Though I was slightly taller than him, my hands never did grow bigger or if they did it wasn’t noticeable.

Because I got the call that the end was imminent I didn’t have time to pack a suit and dress shoes so when I helped carry him to that last stop it was wearing his shoes.

They were new and now they sometimes accompany me to my business meetings and what have you. And unless my son’s feet start to grow in a hurry he won’t get to share this experience.

He’ll have to wear his own shoes to my funeral, not that I’ll know one way or another.

Light The Way

The old man asks me a few questions and I ask him how many details he wants.

He says he doesn’t need to know everything, but is curious about a few things. Says if he knows some meetings can never take place in person he needs a couple of details.

“Why? Cause father’s worry about their sons?”

I don’t have to look in the mirror to know that sparkle is in my eyes and the smile is the one that makes people check their wallets.

“Ok dad, here is the skinny. Don’t go sharing this information because if you do I am going to get asked all sorts of questions and how would I explain that.”

He sighs and smiles.

“I got this dad. Got no idea what will or won’t happen but I got this.”

What I didn’t know was that within a short time I would be standing next to his bed in the hospice saying the same thing, but for different reasons.

I didn’t want him to feel like he had to keep fighting, “I got this dad.”

But I wish I didn’t.

Some days are easy and some are hard but most are somewhere in between the two.

Had a moment today where I stopped what I was doing and walked away from everyone and everything because someone or something had set off a dumpster fire inside my head.

Took all of 30 seconds for me to recognize that telling the twenty-something that cut me off in the gym parking lot that he drives like an asshole and has as much self awareness as a comatose slug to confirm all of the tolerance had leaked out of the bottom of the Josh bucket.

Saw a picture of an old friend on Facebook that I haven’t had contact with in a long time and spoke to it.

“I know you know that dad died, maybe you just don’t care. Maybe you haven’t the common sense or decency to say you’re sorry. Oh, and fuck you very much. I don’t have time to carry everything if you don’t care.”

Walked to the bathroom and told the reflection that if he said one word that wasn’t an exact duplicate of what I said I would pull down the mirror and every wall around it.

“C’mon old man, tell me how dumb this is. Glare at me, I am acting the fool and deserve it.”

Got nothing but silence and fortunately the reflection did as I asked.

The younger mister tells me his throat hurts and I offer him a bunch of stuff but get turned down.

“Want a hug from your old man? That used to be magic.”

He waves that off and I tell him he is in good company. “Haven’t had a good hug in forever.”

“Not today dad.”

I smile at him and walk away.

What If?

The usual parade of memories float down the river and for a brief while I play Huck Finn and ride the raft down thinking about choices and decisions.

What happens if all I have is another 25 years. What happens if I have used up 75 percent of my time here. What happens if I let inertia make all the decisions and see what happens.

What happens if I turn a few things inside out and upside down. What happens if I go for it and see if hope and fantasy move from dream to reality.

What if I try and it is the biggest failure and fiasco ever seen.

What if it is not. What if it is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced

What if I never get the answers to any of these questions.

What if I get all the answers.

What if.

*****

Sometimes I forget that as unfiltered as I am there is still the mask that I wear and still the one others wear.

We rarely speak our minds with the sort of unfettered honesty we claim to for a million different reasons boiled down to fear of not being accepted or fear of hurting others.

Sometimes the social construct keep society from imploding and sometimes they are what make us explode or maybe that is just me.

It Is A Five Ticket Ride

Got a feeling this next period of time is going to be interesting. Got a feeling it is going to be a five ticket ride and they ticket booth hasn’t got change and all I have is my last $100 bill.

Don’t know why I am not carrying twenties and don’t know how it is all going to work, but the storm is about to hit and there won’t be any running away or place to hide.

Going to have to climb aboard and sail through it.

Might not be graceful or anything resembling Baryshnikov, but I know how to plant my feet and keep moving forward even when the silence is deafening.

This was going to be a post called Don’t You Regret About Me but I decided to go a different way.

Maybe it is because the doc said change your ways or bad things are going to happen.

“Gee doc, what sort of bad things?’

“Illnesses that make you more than uncomfortable before they kill you.”

“Well doc, you have a hell of a bedside manner.”

“Thanks. You’re right to be pleased about your workouts. At our age you’re lifting a hell of a lot of weight. That is great unless you hurt yourself. It is much easier to do than you think and it takes longer to recover. Lift less and eat less.”

“Dammit, I could have asked the Magic 8 Ball for that. Do you have anything more profound?”

“Drink more water, get more sleep and try not to sit in front of the computer all day.”

*****

Perhaps it is more than a broken dishwasher on my mind. Maybe it is the words of the doc or maybe it is something else.

Singing With Willie & Julio

Got the headset on and the dog singing along with Willie, Julio and I. Maybe we’ll move onto a few more or maybe we’ll go a different direction.

“I am”… I cried
“I am”… said I
And I am lost and I can’t
Even say why
Leavin’ me lonely still

The dishwasher is operating in as our dear departed captain would say, the failure mode.

I can fix it. I am 98 percent certain I know what is wrong, already made it work again briefly but I am not going to do any more.

That is because I am Joe Renter these days and if anything more is wrong than I suspect I don’t want to be found liable to having caused the issue.

It is irritating not being able to dive into it and do more. Irritating to not be able to fix it.

Some days you are that one trick pony and some days you’re a Starman chasing after a space oddity.

You flip all the switches, turn up the dials to eleven or higher and ask Can you hear me Major Tom?

Space is a vacuum so of course there is nothing but silence. You know that when you are on the dark side of the moon radios don’t work, emails don’t send and there are no carrier pigeons, smoke signals or war drums to indicate recognition of anything.

The silence is deafening.

I’d take you to Stonehenge and ask you if you remember telling me we are inextricably linked together forever. I’d point out we are in a place of magic where druids and witches tapped into the magic of the earth and used its majesty to create a place of wonder.

‘Cuz some fires never burn out and remain lit forever with the temperature varying solely based upon whether the flames are tended or not.

The plan was never to go to the Asian buffet for dinner tonight, especially not at an hour that is as close to lunch time as to dinner.

But given the two slices of toast for breakfast and the lack of lunch because we weren’t going to pay to buy the junk at the soccer game hunger dictated an earlier meal.

Of course the stop at the new Buc-ees in Denton chewed up a solid 45 minutes inside, not to mention the stop for gas at one of the 100 pumps outside.

Those that haven’t been might think that is an exaggeration but it isn’t, because the real number is something like 96 or 120 so splitting the difference seems minor.

I had no idea they would only charge $2.16 to a gall0n to fill my tank so I was grateful because the stop last week at the Costco in Southlake was more like $2.39.

Still the buffet probably wouldn’t have happened had hunger not been so aggressive in making its presence known, but it did and the buffet is right off of the freeway.

What hadn’t crossed my mind was how the walk from the parking lot to the front would trigger me.

Why?

Because the last time I was there was in January with the folks and during that walk dad yelled at me when I asked if he needed a hand.

That was before we knew about the cancer but given how he was then I knew something was happening, just not what.

It Never Stopped Ringing Or Is It Burning

There is no punctuation at the end of the subhead. No punctuation to help decipher whether we are commenting or questioning.

All that we have are the words hanging in the air.

Kind of reminds me of how you can hug someone you haven’t spent time with in forever and catch their scent.

If the right chemical mix is there you can feel your synapses fire and get an instant answer to questions you may or may not be conscious of.

You can hear a bell go off and know there is connection or you can hear an alarm and break the union because your unconscious rejects it.

Maybe Freud or some other scientist can explain the the who, how, what and why in terms that are clearer and more easily understood than I can, but then again maybe I intentionally do not spend real time trying to do so.

Maybe it is because it is similar to holding water in your hand. You hold your palm steady and try not to squeeze because if you do the drops will leak from between your fingers and run away.

Or maybe there are people whose tears you kiss away and others whose tears you cause.

*****

During the middle of the visit I ask dad to go to work with me and he obliges.

It is probably forty some years since the last time we did this but this time mom we don’t carry lunch boxes filled with sandwiches mom made.

This time I won’t sit on the couch outside his office while he is on an important call or fall asleep during the drive back from downtown LA to 0ur home in Encino.

Dad will fall asleep as I drive a few times never knowing how much I liked hearing sounds he makes while he sleeps, sleep noises.

The mix of snoring and breathing has been with me as long as I can remember and provides a familiar comfort.

The shooting at the shul in Pittsburgh has made me think about him for all kinds of reasons, not just because he was Bar Mitzvahed in Pittsburgh but because blatant antisemitism is something we absolutely would have discussed.

He would have pushed to go to Shabbat services to make a point to the community and to those who wish us ill.

I had intended to go last night and then something I ate declared mutiny so I didn’t, but I feel guilty about it.

‘Cuz I can hear dad tell me it is important to make sure we show the community we are not afraid, that it will lend courage to those who are frightened. And because those antisemites should know we say ‘fuck em.”

The Lighthouse

There is a boy who got lost on the road and wandered well off the path into bushes and brush.

For a long while he was so far away he couldn’t hear me calling and even though he knew I jumped off of the cliff and dove in after him it didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that I fought the monsters of the deep and those of the light. Didn’t see that where once there were no wrinkles or lines there are now plenty and that is ok because it I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

I built a lighthouse and set up beacons all around the mountain range and islands upon the sea. Set fires upon the islands and tried to find a way turn the stars in the night into a flashing neon like sign to help him find his way back.

When I dove in the water I didn’t bring anything along or stop to plan. I didn’t do as I taught, I acted without thinking and went based upon instinct.

Sometimes I feel like Odysseus after the Trojan war and wonder will it take 10 years to find my way home. Will the lighthouse and beacons still be lit so that I can figure out where to point my sail or will I just keep going and hope.

Sometimes the outstretched hand is taken and sometimes it remains empty.

Whither Goes The Blog…s

The hosting company I have used for a number of years has been sold and now I need to make some decisions.

Need to decide if I want to hang my hat with the new company, go elsewhere or just close up shop.

Sometimes I think about shutting it all down and letting the words get a rest.

Fourteen years is a long run and I wonder if I am saying things that need to be said or just retelling the same stories.

I can make a case to support either side. Can make a case to take time off and maybe come back.

Sometimes I think about starting over.

Give myself a clean slate and see what I can create, see what I can build.

Start over where there is no preconceived notion about who I am and what I am about and just go.

Make like Bruce and see if I can avoid going down the darker paths and just enjoy the wandering.

*****

I keep thinking about the last time dad was really awake and the moment we shared.

He didn’t say much, just looked at me, smiled and squeezed my hand. There were a couple of moments after that where we made eye contact and I knew we connected, but they don’t match this one.

Bright blue eyes that could see right through you were soft, but sharp enough for me to see the clarity and awareness there.

I’d tell him I know what I am doing because I do.

I cannot confirm nor deny having told a teenage boy that teenage girls spend time in the bathroom practicing the many faces they share with the world, especially siblings and parents.

But I can tell you my soon-to-be-deceased for 90 days father told me a while back that I might not enjoy learning what it is like to be the father of the aforementioned teenage girl.

“Joshua, your sisters were experts in making me want to run away from home and just as good at making me wonder why I would ever think of something so dumb. You on the other hand were an expert at pissing me off. You’re much more interesting now.”

I thanked him for the warm wishes and said I was starting to understand somethings about teenage girls that I never appreciated as an older brother.

“You have no idea, but you will. When she wants to be sweet there is no one nicer or sweeter, but when she decides you have aggravated her watch out.”

I asked him if he really wanted to talk about his granddaughter like that and he laughed. You only wish you could aggravate your sister the way your niece can. It is unreal. Payback is sweet and it is just as sweet watching yours do it to you.

He laughed and then smiled as broadly as you’d ever see him smile. Dad loved being grandpa.

Maybe Grief Scares Them

Tomorrow marks 90 days since dad died and a bunch of people haven’t said one word to me about dad dying.

If it wasn’t for Facebook I am sure I wouldn’t know this or be far less cognizant of it, but the thing is I am.

Those last few days of hospice when I posted constantly weren’t to generate sympathy or comments.

They were to keep me sane because every minute that went by felt like a lifetime and I alternated between the feeling of dread that the end was coming and the hope it would come soon.

Guilt always came along for the ride because I knew the end would come and I would think it was too soon and so I asked how I could wish for us to all to grieve sooner.

And yet at the same time I knew the drugs would ease his pain and begin to increase ours because as his comfort grew he slipped farther and farther away.

It is the nature of how these things go.

So I wrote down my thoughts and steeled myself for the eternity of being son whose father has walked into the cornfields.

Intermixed with this I got some amazing support and messages I never anticipated and was pleasantly surprised by the lift it gave me.

And then I saw the posts from those who said nothing about dad but lots about the exciting things they were doing.

I told myself it was silly to get upset and later on mentioned it to someone and they said people don’t know what to say.

I understand but I don’t.

They could have said they were sorry and that would be enough.

Maybe they are afraid of grief and mourners.

Maybe I should be the bigger man and let it go, but maybe I am not the bigger man.

Maybe I am just the guy who whose dad died 90 days ago and who hopes he was better at offering condolences/support than the people he is complaining about.

Where The Wild Things Are

I have thought about making like Max and taking my boat to the secret island where the wild rumpus is held.

Thought about going with the dog and together we’ll become the King of the Wild Things and do as one does but responsibility has prevented that.

Some days I find it easy to say responsibility has made my life better and sometimes I think it fucked my shit up.

Sometimes I think about what I haven’t done and wonder how many times opportunity knocks and whether I can get some of those knocks to come back again.

It is a natural thing, thinking about what is, what was and what could be.

Once the aforementioned teenage girl l0oked at Facebook and asked me why there were girls commenting and I asked her if she thought boys and girls could be friends.

“Of course we can. I have friends who are boys, but you are different.”

“No, I am not. I am your father but to some girls I am an old friend.”

Her eyes narrowed and she said it was good that I admitted I am old.

“Abba, some of the girls commented multiple times. Why?”

“Because they are old girlfriends who once loved me and like being close.”

That made her face pucker up, “Ewww. That is disgusting.”

“They don’t think so.”

“You mean they used to. They must not know what you do to a bathroom.”

I laughed and smiled.

“DAD! Don’t smile like that, it is creepy!”

“Why?”

“Because that is the look you give when you know something and don’t want to say. I don’t want to think about that.”

“No, you don’t.”

I laughed hard and wished dad was here for this.

Voting & MacArthur

The line at the polls for early voting were long and it wreaked havoc upon my work plans.

It took almost 90 minutes from start to finish so I had to adjust plans on the fly and found myself clearing most of my afternoon schedule.

Hit a couple of meetings in Las Colinas and went to lunch at a Shawarma place that had recently opened.

It was good, probably the best I have had since I moved to Texas so I’ll absolutely go back.

But because things got so mucked up earlier I spent most of it eating while working on a spreadsheet. Sat there wondering when I turned into the grumpy old man who muttered to himself about fixing broken formulas and making sure text fit into cells.

When I walked out and got ready to leave a guy asked me where we were and I told him we we were off of MacArthur, like the general.

The guy had no idea who I was talking about. It made me shake my head because I am pretty certain he was a 30 something year-old American.

Got in the car, looked at the empty seat on my right and said “it is too bad you are not here dad because I could have said ‘old soldiers never die, they just fade away’ and you would have gotten it.”

And the silence that started 90 days ago continued so I turned on the motor and drove away.

My middle sister calls and asks if I have finished fighting with the doc’s office about my upcoming procedure.

“Little sister, you know I don’t lose fights like that. I am our father’s son. I got the business manager on the phone with my provider and took a screenshot of the section online that says preventative and diagnostic are covered.”

She ran the office for my BIL’s practice for a number of years and is very familiar with the coding and billing procedure between insurance companies and doctor’s offices.

When she tells me she can’t remember the exact code for preventative I tell her she is closer to 50 than 40.

It doesn’t faze her the way it used to, but she does say it is weird to think I’ll be 50 in a few months.

“I hate the idea of doing this. If I could skip it I would. Hell, if they would have said I had to wait to 50 I would have said screw it. What is a few months.”

We go back and forth about a few things and talk about hospice because she has a friend who just went in.

“You know what freaks me out a bit? That first night, after dad’s surgery when we knew the end was coming and weren’t clear if that was it.

About 2 AM he called me by my first and middle names and had me come to the bed. He held onto the bed with one hand and squeezed mine with the other. I have never seen him in that much pain. I felt a little guilty, but I told him that you were coming and to hang on.”

Is It A Manly Fear?

At dad’s retirement party one of his coworkers took me aside to say a few things about my dad.

“Do you know your father is fearless? That guy isn’t afraid of any one or anything.”

I smiled and nodded yes.

That is how I thought of him and it wasn’t until many years later that I realized it wasn’t completely true

Some of it was because I hadn’t been a father long enough and been through enough to appreciate certain aspects of life in a way that allowed me to really follow and appreciate certain things.

It wasn’t until my grandfather was clearly on a downward spiral and dad asked for my advice about whether to go away with mom that I saw he truly saw me as a man and not just a kid.

I was 37 but it wasn’t until around I was around 47 or 48 that we really hit our stride. Don’t mistake that to mean we weren’t close before that because we were but something changed around then.

It might have happened a few years before that but I can’t say for certain and it doesn’t matter.

What matters is I did what every son does and measured myself against him.

In most areas I felt solid but when it came to career I always felt a step behind.

Why?

Because dad worked for the county for 38 years. He held multiple positions and did well there, but I didn’t have anything close to that.

I had multiple jobs.

Got promoted and had success.

Got fired and laid off.

Dad never had any of that and for a long time I wondered what he could do that I couldn’t because I figured some of it had to be me.

And then one day he told me he thought I had caught some bad breaks and that in many ways he had gotten lucky.

My jaw might still be on the floor. My father was a great dad, but he could be very tough about some things and you never got to make excuses about accountability.

****

I don’t think of myself as a tough guy. Don’t think of myself as a wimp either.

Upon occasion I have had to use my fists to defend myself , I never liked getting hit or kicked, but I always felt better after that first punch.

It is like jumping into a really cold/hot shower. There is the initial shock and then you settle in.

The old man had the same procedure I am going in for multiple times, heck so has mom and millions of others.

But I am thinking about dad because we had a conversation about when I might have this and I told him I found the idea a little traumatic.

“It might not be a manly fear, but this gives me the willies.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough for the shock to extend all the way from LA to Texas.

“Josh, the prep sucks but you’ll take a really good nap. You’re old enough to appreciate those now.”

I’ll Fight A Lion

“Dad, I’d rather fight a lion. If you want we can market it as almost middle aged man takes on lions, gorilla and a great white shark.”

I felt the second eye roll and heard the sigh, but continued anyway.

“The only catch is the shark has to fight me on land. That is only fair, he’ll have several thousand pounds on me and might even be more than twice my size. But that won’t matter because I can beat him. Just promise you’ll watch.”

“How are my grandchildren?”

“Dad, don’t change the subject. When your son says he wants to spend time with you that is precisely when you need to do it. He could get busy and do more important things. Trust me, I have a teenager.”

“I had four, you have two.”

“Let’s not turn this into a competition. I would have had another four but that would have meant forcing the issue, getting married multiple times or casually picking up lost kids at the mall.

Forcing the issue and picking up lost kids at the mall tend to be marked as felonies so that is a non starter and getting married multiple times is a lot of work and costly.

Ya know dad, I don’t think I want to deal with all the mishegoss involved in multiple marriages and all those diapers. Hell, I haven’t had to change one in a decade.”

“Joshua, I am not interested in playing games.”

“That’s too bad dad because I have gotten really good at chess and I think I could beat you now.”

“Your sisters are right, you are a pain-in-the-ass.”

“That might be true, but I am the favorite. Just remember that.”

****

I am standing at the side of the bed, looking down at dad.

Mom is sort of sleeping in the corner and I am trying to process it all.  I woke up in Dallas, worked a full day and went about my business.

Now I am back in LA wondering how long my father will live.

The doc who said he wouldn’t make it through the night doesn’t know dad, he can say what he wants but it doesn’t matter.

Part of me knows some of that is wishful thinking and that I need to be prepared because if the doc is competent he has some professional expertise I don’t have and isn’t personally invested.

When I tell dad to hold on because Jennifer is on a plane and will be there soon I tell him it is his fault.

“You remember who told me I always had to protect my sisters and that I would be in big trouble if I didn’t. I am protecting her.”

He squeezes my hand but I have no idea if it is because of a spasm from pain or if it is agreement.

Seventy-nine days later much is still a blur but some of it is less so and new memories are taking their place alongside the old.

I think I have PTSD.

The prep kit for the procedure is nearby but dad isn’t.

If I offer to fight a lion or a gorilla do you think he’ll answer and more importantly, if he can make it happen will they give me time to stretch.

I don’t want the animals to win because I pulled a hamstring. This getting older shit sucks.