If you wanna know where I get it,
here's where I get it.
Like I said yesterday, it seems like I
can be a bit of a klutz on occasion, especially when attempting to
out-perform my limited abilities as an athlete. When you count bike
accidents, ski accidents, and sprained or twisted ankles from running,
the evidence does seem to pile up. However, I have yet to break a
leg ski jumping, tear up a face from a running accident caused by a
dog, or blow out a knee falling into a dirt hole.
That's what my dad does.
When they say the acorn does not fall
from the tree, they may actually be on to something, at least in
regards to this. Now, my dad is a much better natural athlete than
am I, so I'm not quite sure what his excuse is, but over the years he
has wracked up enough injuries from questionable sources to make me
wonder if I've inherited more than his love of Bugs Bunny and his
unnaturally small head. They say that as you get older you find
yourself acting more and more like your parents. Usually, that means
yelling things like “you kids get off my lawn”. In my case,
though, it seems to be an ability to injure oneself without even
trying.
Besides, I don't yell at kids and I
don't have a lawn
It's not like I try to injure myself,
just like I'm sure my dad doesn't try to injure himself, either.
There just seems to be something passed down from father to son in
this case. Thankfully, I haven't yet broken anything or caused
myself to have any sort of reconstructive surgery, like the person
from whom I inherited these abilities, but I'm still fairly young.
Give me a few years, and who knows—instead of a black eye from
skiing, I'll have to have surgery to remove a car mirror from a
sensitive portion of my anatomy all because I was out running, saw
something shiny, had my attention diverted by said shiny object, and
then didn't realize that I was about to run into a parked car.
Not that I would ever do that, though.
Right?
So, whenever someone asks what I've
picked up from my dad over the years, “the ability to injure
myself” is always one of the first things out of my mouth. It gets
a big laugh, and then it allows me to brag about all the good stuff
I've picked up from him. You know, the stuff that DOESN'T involve
sprained ankles, black eyes, and reconstructive surgery.
On that note, happy birthday, Dad.
Enjoy your big day, and try to get out of it without any broken
bones, okay?
8-)
Love,
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