There are people who tell me I don’t have a sense of humor, understanding of business, life politics and a million other things.
Every time the point and purpose is to make me understand that if only I had these things or gained them I would appreciate the buffoon who occupies the oval.
Ya know the one who is supposed to make America great again but is always telling a story about how he is very successful but could be more so if only people cooperated with him.
The guy who is always tripping over his own tongue and claiming that what we heard him say isn’t what he said and when he isn’t alleging we are all deaf and dumb his minions are telling us we are.
These are the same people who cheer him on as he bullies and berates others and then ask how we can suggest the people who do bad things might have done so because of him.
My daughter tells me about kids on the bus and in school who talk about how Trump is going to get rid of the illegals and how the terrible liberals/democrats ought to shut up or stop crying.
They love to say Trump owns the libs all the while repeating the same pathetic excuses Trump does about why he isn’t more successful.
Those snowflakes who in one breath are described as incompetent fools somehow manage to turn exceptionally clever folks who find every possible loophole to block him.
How convenient.
That is not me in the picture and I am grateful because that looks like the worst of days.
And given the 928 days of recent GI distress I sometimes wonder how I haven’t broken the toilet in frustration or fury.
“It was bloody toilet Tuesday when I finally snapped the damn thing off of the wall and said I’d rather live a life of rubber pants and depends.”
Makes for a hell of a story, but not one that I am going to tell, though there are elements that make me raise an eyebrow.
There was a moment today when I stopped and sat down at Baylor White in Grapevine and figured it might be enough to call it.
A moment where I am sure my face was a mix of “What the fuck/This blows/Hibernate forever because news came in that made me ask why I bother putting effort in.
If this is how it is going to go I might as well hang it up and just do something else for however long because I am too old to run full speed into a wall repeatedly and not get anywhere.
****
A guy online told me he hopes people like me die and I told him it is a certainty.
“Don’t worry sir, it is going to happen.”
Can’t say if it took the piss right out of him or if he celebrated. But I do know his favorite junior high bully celebrates such things in the White House.
Because in his world making America great is a Machiavellian reality show in which whatever it takes is noble.
Somewhere around the time my son turned 17 he and I had a big wrestling match that I barely won.
I am still physically stronger than he is and I was then, but it is primarily because of almost 40 years of lifting.
He never liked wrestling as much as I did as a kid either, so I know a few moves he hasn’t learned yet. Add the weight and cunning of the old man (I used the extra size to help me catch my breath) and he had a big challenge.
Except his challenge grows smaller all the time while mine grows larger.
“Josh, you know it only gets harder. He is just starting to come into his strength and yours is going. You’ll always have more than the average guy, but you are not 18 anymore. Not even close.”
I smiled and asked if that was why he stopped wrestling with me.”
He smiled back and told me I never had a chance.
“I remember what happened when I picked you up.”
“You caught a pretty good elbow.”
“Yeah dad, I remember.”
We bantered back and forth and I asked him if it was hard for him to go through some of those changes.
“It is not great, but it is not horrible either.”
I miss those conversations and would have a million more if I could. I don’t know if I’ll be as graceful about some of the aging as he was.
Some of it is because I am a 1000 times more active than dad and still play pick up ball. It is hard to see guys beat you when you know there was a time they had no shot.
But the thing is, that was then and this is now. Can’t go back, so we adapt and if you can come up with new skills or improve that which you have and make it work it is to be celebrated.
****
Both kids hit the gym again with me.
My son shook his head as he watched me stare at the numbers on his elliptical.
I kept trying to figure out if there was a way for me to go harder and longer for a period of time that would enable me to match him.
Couldn’t do it today. Haven’t done it at all any time in the recent past.
The best I can do is make like the tortoise and keep going for an extended period. Thus far it seems to be working…sort of.
He can still go longer than he does and keep up the frenetic pace, the kid ran cross country. I love seeing him do it.
My desire to do more isn’t because I am competing with him, I am cool with him exceeding me. But I always look for a way to motivate myself so if this helps, well it is not bad.
Certainly better than imitating the loser in the White House or fools that celebrate his lies and bad behavior.
I haven’t time or patience for it.
Moving from Johnny to the next song and one more while I plan out next steps. Everyone is angry and my voice is seemingly poison so I can go the other direction for a while.
No need to bang my head into the concrete, some things are done even if others don’t recognize it.
Sometimes moving like the tortoise is the most sensible way to make the changes that are going to be made regardless.
