The Day My Youth Died

This Sunday marks the 3 week anniversary of the day my youth died. In what started as joyous day with two families at the park ended in tragedy. It was a laughter filled afternoon at a medieval festal with two young families, who were destined to part ways because of diverging career paths. Since all good things must come to an end we headed towards the train station that we had arrived on with all 7 kids in tow. While awaiting for our train I got the itch to bug my wife, like all good husbands do. First, there are two types of people in this world, those who fake splashing water in your face but don’t and those who do. Well my wife is the latter. Knowing this ahead of time I still decided to annoy her. My preferred method, and the one she hates the most, is the well aimed throat chop. After a few failed attempts to land said throat chops I got a stern warning to cease current actions or repercussions were imminent. Meaning she was going to douse me with the water she was holding onto. As any good husband would do I conceded victory so that she would lower her weapon of choice. As she closed the gap between us for a sweet, delicate kiss on the lips as a sign of peace between us I made a decision that would seal my fate forever. As she leaned in without a worry in the world that her bae would break the truce I landed a throat chop that Jet lee would be proud of. Recoiling from this betrayal her eye level rose to meet mine. My cackling laughter faded quickly as I could see the fire in her eyes ignite. To say the she doused me with water is an understatement. She hit me with so much water I felt like a prisoner at Guantanamo Bay being water boarded by an CIA interrogation specialist. It was on! But by the time I recovered her 5'2" ass was already running an had positioned her self on the other side of 4 rows of above ground 2'X 3'x 30' metal flower beds. Assessing the situation it would have been too exhausting to run her down. So I did what every adult male would have done…..I jumped them. But not the hurdle method, I employed the Steve Austin 6 million dollar man method and used each planter as a launch pad. The plan was not well thought out because as I stuck the landing an excruciating pain shot through my right calf coursing up the back of knee that could no longer bear weight. This is the moment that my youth died, but I was still not aware at this moment that would come later. One measly jump and I injured myself! I have never had any sports related injury in my life and now is the time that it happens? Does my body know that retribution for the war crimes is a mere few feet away laughing at me? The story does not end here though because I was at a cross roads in my life. I could stop and limp away and lick my wounds or I could rise up and rage against the dying of the light. I did what every early 30’s, red-blooded, middle income, slightly grey headed, little league coaching ‘murican adult male would do. I mustered every ounce testosterone I could and I charged the fort. With a battle cry Geronimo would be proud of I continued on my path of redemption leaping 3 more colossal flowered beds each causing more and more crippling pain. After clearing the last flower bed I gritted my teeth tracked down that tiny, beautiful, black haired, laughing female and reclaimed dominance for the Y chromosome by returning the favor with a bottle of water that I wrestled from my 8 year old. Victory!! Or so I thought. Earlier I stated that I was not aware that my youth had died even though I was in extreme pain. No. The realization came in the days and weeks that followed as young, healthy, vibratn adults flaunting their full heads of hair would call me sir and ask if I needed a wheel chair (I work at a hospital) or traffic would stack up as I hobbled across the street. Three weeks, one doctors visit and several X-rays later the limp is finally gone along with my youth. And she would still get the last laugh.