I was strutting, as I usually do, until I found myself face-down on the sidewalk. It was a dose of reality that bruised my knee, scraped my ego, and sent my phone sliding down Broadway.
I entered an online giveaway. I won 4 tickets, so I took a couple of the grandkids and stepson Jerry to the Monster Jam in St Louis. Thankfully, Jerry couldn’t imagine riding with me in the city and he drove. We parked at the Roof of the World and hoofed it to the Dome.
We walked down from 88th floor of the Mount Everest Parking Garage and ran into a million freezing pedestrians. I tried to merge but my feet got confused and I face-planted on the nasty sidewalk. Embarrassed, I tried to pop up but my knees wouldn’t let me. After decades of abuse and obesity, they went on strike. Jerry had to help me up, just like young people help old people every day. This was the first time I was the “old people”. I wanted to slink away and lick my wounds, but pride got in the way and I went on to the Dome of Death.
Do you remember watching TV wildlife shows where a wolf stalks and kills the injured Caribou that can’t keep up with the herd? I looked back and the real-life, wolfish, un-welcome-wagon man was following us. After he stayed on my heels through a couple of turns I turned and stared him down. He spotted a person with a fancier watch and went after new prey. We moved on with the herd and into the Dome. I briefly wondered if his new prey got away.
The free tickets ended up being for seats on the moon. Even though the steep stairs took my breath and what was left of my dignity, I made it thousands of steps to my miniature chair, which was next to Baby Huey. I squeezed into the little plastic vise #4 of row MM, which made me way too cozy with my neighbor.
To the tune of overbuilt engines, I sat as well as can be expected. My sitting muscles went numb. My knee throbbed. My ego throbbed. My neighbor grinned at me. I got up and moved to an empty seat 2 rows away.
As I sat in my misery I noticed a pretty young mother running up the stairs while carrying a largish child. Five minutes later she went back down the stairs, which were steep enough to qualify as a ladder. Minutes later she ran back up. She repeated the regimen for hours. She must have seen my fear and pain moving up the steps. Maybe she saw me fall earlier and was taunting me. As she skipped up the endless stairs, I started to despise her and her flexible knees.
Far below, on the field, a monster truck flipped and threw flames and engine parts across the dome. Unlike me, it could be repaired easily. I sulked. We completed the event and made it down and out without consequence. I took more than the recommended dosage of Ibuprofen and went home.
I’m not sure what to do with my new self image. I’m the old guy that needs a “Lifecall” because he’s fallen and can’t get up. Maybe this goes with being near my expiration date. It’s really not fair because I never signed an agreement to be old and infirm.
Now that I’m home in the loving embrace of my recliner, I have time to wrap my mind around my circumstances. I should accept my lot in life and stay off the stairs. I should understand that I can’t do the things that the young wolfs do and embrace being a crippled caribou that can’t keep up with herd. I can ignore the young Mom running the stairs.
But, I’m not going to do that. I fell, but it won’t happen again. I’m off to the gym. The next time I won’t be weak. I’ll keep my footing and run the stairs. The wolf can look for other prey.
Or, maybe not.
Fini.
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