The Don't Fall Mantra

As I fell to the sidewalk, the only thing I could think of was us telling each other: "Don't fall."

My wife Amy and I have been sharing that mantra with each other for the past few years when we go for workout walks and mountain hikes. We feel healthy and are in pretty good shape, although I won't say "for our age". That's too limiting. Last year we bought matching shirts that said "A Little Fit / A Little Fat" that were a big hit at last year's Wharf to Wharf. We're older parents now with teens in tow and grateful we haven't had many debilitating injuries. Our kids are grateful, too. 

I had knee surgery in 2014, which put an end to my running days. That was because of a torn meniscus that proved to be worse than the MRI showed. I had fallen a few times on runs prior to that, most likely damaging an already tearing meniscus. I recovered and moved on to walking and hiking. No bike riding, though. We've tried but just never became a biking family.

Last year Amy rolled her ankle on a hike. She was sore but thankfully wasn't out of commission too long. Second to "don't fall" is our rule of never taking your eyes off the road or trail we're walking on. Especially mountain trails. That's what she did, and her foot slid off a root she didn't see to anticipate adjusting her footing. 

In 2017, I did have a bizarre infection health scare that I never fully understood at the time or since. One that put in the hospital for night and left me with an awkward and painful healing process. Our kids were much younger then but old enough to be worried. It certainly sucked but I eventually recovered. 

Otherwise, we've each had other physical tweaks in our necks, backs, and knees. We recovered nicely from each of those, taking care of ourselves and not pushing it when we couldn't or shouldn't (except me at times unfortunately). Each time our kids remind us to slow down and take care of ourselves. I'm six years older than Amy and I was 42 when our oldest Beatrice was born and 44 when our youngest Bryce was born. When I look back at one of the earliest posts on Get Off The Ground about being an older parent, I have to smile. 

The question is – do Amy and I worry about the fact we're older having children? Not really. I mean, yes, I imagine what it will be like, banking on the fact we'll be in pretty good shape mentally, emotionally and physically – along with having contingencies in place just in case. But no, we're not that worried about it at this point.

So, here we are. We've made it with falls and all.

"Don't fall." The words collided with my other thought in that moment -- How did I lose my balance? After walking our dog Jenny thousands of times over the past six years, I had never lost my balance. Until I did. 

I had reached down to pick up Jenny's poop, just like the thousands of times before that, and instead of standing back up cleanly, I spun slowly and fell to the sidewalk onto my right side. I tried to break the fall with my hand holding Jenny's leash, but it didn't work. I'm lucky I didn't break my wrist trying. I felt my ribs compress upward and inward. It hurt. A lot. 

I laid there for a moment, still holding the leash, and Jenny just stared at me, waiting to finish her walk. I stood up and was able to walk. The right side of my ribs were sore, but all my limbs were scrape free and intact. I finished the walk and told Amy what happened. A week later I went to get an X-ray that revealed I had a hairline fracture in one of my ribs. But two weeks after that I was healing just fine. 

"Don't fall." The words continue to haunt me because now our kids are on me about it. And sure enough, less than three weeks after that fall, on one of our mountain hikes I tripped and strained my right foot under my big toe. The part where you push off when walking, running, or jumping. I don't run anymore, and I don't jump much, but I do walk. And play the drums. 

I'm recovering from that now, but damn. It's like I need all the automated warning alarms built into our fussy EV. And even though my family thinks I'm still fussier than the car, I need to do better job of embodying the "don't fall" mantra and watch where the frick I'm going. All the time. 

Feeling the Road as I Do

“Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away…”

—Aerosmith, Dream On

The San Francisco Giants overcame a 0-5 first inning deficit to ultimately beat the Los Angeles Dodgers 9-6. And we were there.

Well, at least for the first five innings we were there. At that point the score was tied up at 6-6 and the girls made it as long as they could before we headed home.

It was an amazing experience for all us – especially the girls – since it was Little League Day at AT&T Park and Santa Cruz represented well among many other Bay Area cities. Beatrice and I wore our team’s shirts and hats (the Rockies) and Bryce wore the hat and shirt from our T-ball team last year (the Reds). The Mama wore the Reds hat as well.

The Little League teams and their families got to march through the stadium before the game started. The girls were thrilled looking over the field and up at the surrounding stands.

“Where are we going to sit?” Beatrice asked as we walked along the stadium’s perimeter.

“Way up there,” the Mama and I answered, pointing to the upper deck above the third base line.

“Mama, I don’t want to sit up there,” Bryce said. “That’s too high up. I don’t want to fall.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t fall. We all have seats to sit in.”

“It’s too high!”

Our parade ended and we exited the field. We then proceeded on the winding upward walk to our section. The girls ran ahead of us, energized by the ballpark and all the people and kids. The Mama and I walked behind deciding on what we wanted to eat for lunch. We rounded another bend in the walkway and fell silent.

Maybe I have another 20 years of good road ahead, I thought. Twenty healthy, productive years where I can provide for my family so that we can do things like this. The Mama probably has even longer, being five years younger than me and statistically speaking outliving me in the long run.

Maybe I’ll be able to keep running after them, at least until they’re out of the we-need-to-run-after-them phase. Maybe later on in my 70’s, 80’s and beyond, I’ll be in good health still. Maybe at some point I’ll see them start their own families if they so choose and still be able to shuffle after grandchildren. 

Maybe. God, I hope so. 

Man, what a buzz kill I am. Let’s play frickin’ ball!

The week before we had family visiting during Spring break – Amy’s Dad and Step-mom – and the girls were so excited. They couldn’t wait to show them they’re favorite toys and games and anything else they could think of in the moment.

The day before they arrived, Beatrice said, “Wait, how come they’re still alive? They’re so old.”

Beatrice is our literal inquisitor, not meaning any harm, but sometimes hitting the big-question sensitivity from out of the awkward blue.

“They’re not that old, Beatrice,” the Mama said. “They’re doing fine and will be here tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. I can’t wait to see them!”

We all hugged and laughed and I thought, Daddy’s old getting older too, Bea. Mercy me…

Having children later in life and being older parents has never bothered me that much, only because we’ve worked hard to take care of ourselves and so far benefit from the best of our gene pools. And we both feel great. However, the imaginary infinite road we told ourselves we had throughout our 20’s, 30’s and even in our 40’s, is now gone for good.

Gone like the crushed cartilage cleaned out from my right knee when I had torn meniscus surgery nearly two years ago. I feel the difference every single time I work out, especially when I do my once-per-week beach run. It doesn’t hurt, but it’ll never be the same again either. And I certainly don’t want a complete knee replacement anytime soon (reminds my lovely physical therapist, the Mama).

Yes, I feel every inch of the finite road these days, my suspension nearly shot. And with more friends and family losing loved ones of late, mortality is a familiar tune hummed frequently to myself.

I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, although feeling the road as I do, I take nothing for granted. When even dropping the girls off at school before leaving on a business trip becomes as much as a memorable moment as walking in a Little League parade at a big league ballgame. Or when Beatrice hits the ball off the pitching machine during a Little League game and Coach Daddy’s arms fly into the air to cheer, overcoming her fear of playing. Or when Bryce shouts “winner, winner, chicken dinner!” when playing family bingo, but later on leaving poop in the toilet -- again.

All that has happened and all that is yet to be. Taking the scenic route makes it all worthwhile. The laughter and the tears. Until the Good Lord will take us away. Amen.

Daddy K daydream time travels about being an older parent

When I was a tween and teen and young adult, I would imagine where I'd be in the year 2000 – what I'd be doing, who I'd be with, where I'd live, what I'd look like. It was a fascinating mental exercise for me, causing my head to buzz with electricity, my mind awash in endorphins. (One of my good friends in college, who was considered to be somewhat of a clairvoyant and who sadly died from chemotherapy complications a year after we met, claimed that he saw me way in the future with silver hair and a beard, wearing glasses and smoking a pipe while sitting at a big mahogany desk. It was true I wanted to be a psychologist at the time. Sigmund Freud I'm not; a pipe dream is sometimes just a pipe dream. That's why I'm in marketing and PR!)

Daydream time travel has always been escapist therapy for me to "work things out". But unlike when I was younger and time was an open air amphitheater, the starry sky expanding before my eyes, now it's like Alice in Wonderland where time is a shrinking room collapsing around me.

When B turns sweet 16 (or handsome 16), I'll be 58 years old. When B graduates from college (on time of course), I'll be 64. You can see where I'm going with this.

The question is – do Amy and I worry about the fact we're older having children? Not really. I mean, yes, I imagine what it will be like, banking on the fact we'll be in pretty good shape mentally, emotionally and physically – along with having contingencies in place just in case. But no, we're not that worried about it at this point.

We're not the only parents having children at an older age. Most what to complete college and have careers established prior to having children. And then there are those like us who hadn't planned on kids but changed their minds.

Is it fair to B that its parents will be much older maybe than some of its friends' parents (I say "it" because I'm really trying not to be gender specific until we're holding B in our arms!)? Our parents and sisters had their children at half my age. And while I'm not going to discuss the socioeconomic implications of retiring baby boomers, lower birthrates and shrinking tax bases, I will say it's a hefty responsibility to have a child and something we do not take lightly.

According to an article I read recently:

Nationally, the U.S. Census report shows that more American women are skipping motherhood or are waiting longer to have children, a trend already evident in California, where birthrates to women in their 40s have tripled the past two decades.

So we're not alone in this trend. With the exception of an unchecked growing obesity rate in this country, many of my generation and older are healthier than previous generations, thus living longer. (And many may outlive their overweight children – get your butts moving people and get off the high-fructose corn syrup.)

I did find a quick list of pros and cons for having a child at an older age by Michael K. Meyerhoff, EdD:

There are a number of positive aspects to having a first child in midlife. There are also some drawbacks. First, the positives:

1. A new parent who is between 35 and 40 years of age has about 15 to 20 years of adult life experience and so has more inner resources to draw on in times of stress than does a younger parent.

2. Middle-aged parents are usually at the height of their earning power, so they have more financial stability to support a child.

3. Having had many experiences, many middle-aged adults are ready to be parents. They have a sense of identity -- the child will not have to provide them with it.

4. Having a first child in midlife provides a real sense of renewal.

5. Adults in midlife may have a deeper sense of the value of life itself, and so tend to place high value on the time they can spend with their children.

While many of the positive things about having a baby in midlife involve the joys of raising a small child, the drawbacks have mostly to do with the future and with the parents' concerns about aging:

1. Older parents may have lower energy levels. They may wonder if they will have the energy to be as active as their child needs them to be.

2. They wonder if they will live to see their child become an adult. Will they ever see their grandchildren? Will they very quickly become a burden to a child just as he is trying to get on his feet as a young adult?

3. When the age difference is 40 or more years, quite a schism is created; parents worry whether their values will be at all relevant to their child. The age difference may be particularly apparent when a child becomes a teenager -- a difficult period for even young parents to deal with.