The Clumsy Curse

Yesterday I read a post that reminded me so much of myself in younger days. It seems I have learned from experience enough to function now, but for a lot of years I was so clumsy it was almost dangerous.

For example, it wasn't uncommon for someone meeting me for the first time to hear first from me something like, "Ow, I just fell into that bush and now I'm bleeding. And look at my nylons!" Remember that coat rack thing I hit my head on repeatedly for eight years? And then there was that date that ended (before it began) with me in the ditch, muddy water dripping from my hair, dress ripped and shriveled wherever it was wet. Lucky for my date, I went home instead of to the dance.

No one was surprised when I burned my eyelids after opening the radiator cap on my overheated car. When I graduated from high school, my family sat on the edges of their seats as I walked, willing me to make it without tripping in front of the stadium-filled audience. Two years later, they did it again when I received my associate of science from the local college.

There is a reason I avoided jobs like waitressing (I probably should have also avoided that job that involved a meat slicer).

My early years as a wife were treacherous. It seemed like I cut myself while preparing food at least once a week. I locked myself out of our apartment or car so many times, it began to feel like a habit. My husband got to the point where he would just shake his head because he knew there was nothing he could do about me.

Like a gangly teenager struggles as he gets used to his changing body, I eventually matured into the semi-normal person I am today. I rarely have run-ins with knives or the iron anymore, and though I locked myself (and the four children that were with me) out of our vehicle just last week at the library, I can't even recall the last time that happened because it was so long ago.

I hope this lasts because I've heard that growing old is really hard. I'd like to do it gracefully if I can.