Swinger

I have an old photo of my grandfather on the roof of our house, helping my dad construct a dormer so that our ever expanding clan would not have to sleep five to a bedroom. Grandpa was seventy five at the time. He was a strong, healthy man, who had just that year retired from working in the Chicago stockyards.

I am sixty two, and falling apart. I have bad feet, bad knees, bad eyesight, and just for snicks, I twisted my ankle on the day after Christmas. My little project, the redecorating of my office, took a month for me to pull off. My grandfather could have done what it took the entire month of December for me to do, in probably three days, and I had help. It really wasn't that big of a project, but it seemed to overwhelm me. Eventually I figured it all out, and I think the room turned out pretty good for a screw up such as myself. I have new windows, freshly painted walls, and a nice new light fixture with only one shorted out lamp (Thanks again China). One thing I did learn while doing this job is that I waddle. When I walk through a room, my ass swings back and forth like a fat old man's ass would. On more than one occasion while working on the office, I sent cans of paint and various tools flying as my hips banged through like the proverbial bull. I would walk between ladders, tables, and other obstructions thinking there was more than enough room for my lithe, little ass to slink through, only to have that illusion quickly shattered. I've looked at my movements on video, and have found that I most definitely waddle, and that I am not all that agile. I wish that I had more of my grandfathers abilities, but unfortunately all my mishaps, and physical inabilities lead me to believe that I'm much more like my somewhat clumsy father. That and the constant cursing.