This is Life in Your 40s: Volume 1
Aaron Sharp | July 6, 2020
Periodically on this blog I like to offer a glimpse into the future for those who may not have crossed the grand milestone that is your the celebration of your fortieth trip around the sun. Since I am now three years past that celebration I feel that I am qualified to speak as to the unique, humorous, and occasionally off-putting facets of life in your fourties.
Yesterday I had to walk to our bedroom. On my way I walked behind the nine-year-old Zoologist who had a rubber ball between his ankles. As any good dad would I kicked the ball away from my unsuspecting oldest son and proceeded to the bedroom. On my way back to the living room I again walked behind the Zoologist who once again had the ball pinned between his ankles. As any good dad would I went to kick the ball again. Once again, my oldest son did not suspect anything, but just as I went to kick the ball he turned ever so slightly to the right to see something on the television.
As to what happened next, I cannot say for sure.
I was involved, but sometimes being right in the middle of what happens leaves you without any real perspective. What I can testify to is to the impulses and signals that my body sent to my brain.
First, a warning was sent from my right foot to the receptors in my brain. My brain had a tough time getting the details, but the gist of it was something like this, “OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!”
Second, my body instinctively reacted by performing an involuntary crash to the floor. If you’ve ever watched a submarine movie and they sub crew has to immediately get below the surface to avoid an enemy ship with the Captain screaming, “DIVE! DIVE!” you get the basic idea. One hand went to the floor to stabilize my crash and my other hand went to my right foot.
Third, as I was in the midst of my crash dive to the carpet my eyes observed that my son, who I love as much as life itself, was also performing his own crash dive clutching his leg. In the pain and crashing I thought, “Man, I hope I didn’t break his leg. That would really stink.”
Fourth, as my body thudded to the floor and began to regain control of my mental faculties a small prayer was sent out much like an SOS from a ship that has begun taking on water. The prayer was brief, but to the point, and went something like this, “Dear God, please don’t let me have broken my ankle.”
We are now 24 hours post attempted ball-kicking incident, and I am able to fill out an after-action report. My son’s leg hurt for about 30 seconds, after which he began running and playing as if nothing ever happened. I have a couple of toes that are purple, the top of my foot is sore, and the only thing I have less of than coordination at this point in my life is dignity.
This is life in your 40s.