I suppose I’ve shot my last three pointer, run my last mile full out, leapt my last leap higher than my ankles, and aced my last tennis serve. Ah well. It sure was sport while it lasted.
Alas, the Extended Warranty Package was not offered on the joints and bones. And the built-in obsolescence on the 1948 models is beginning to become apparent. No, it’s way past beginning.
And so I celebrate those who still can–like my 7-yr-old grand daughter Abby here, and remember how it felt–velocity, speed, acceleration, and impact; resilience, oxygen debt, and second wind.
More and more, life becomes a vicarious experience of watching; of fond and fading memories of belly rushes and bruises, of winning and losing and playing flat out. We pass the baton to the next generation and wish them God speed. We’re pleased, thrilled and a little jealous, more spectator than participant as time goes by.