The Symmetry of Life

My parents, may they rest in peace, loved to tell the tale of how I came into the world kicking and screaming; unlike my older brother, who arrived with a wink in his eye and a smile on his face. I suspect his wink was just one eye opening sooner than the other, and I’m pretty sure his smile was just gas. He certainly contained an abundance of it later in life. That I was kicking and screaming may have been a reaction to the sound spanking I received soon after entering, but more likely it was due to being suddenly extracted from a warm, wet, and wonderful womb.

Being just born, my new world was understandably quite small, a world of regimen, carefully controlled activities and little excitement. I was incapable of speaking, walking, feeding myself, except out of a bottle, using the bathroom or doing pretty much anything else, except lying around and sleeping. As with all babies, I required constant attention and round-the-clock care. Failing to receive it, I would make my displeasure known, often by kicking and screaming.

Of course, as time went by, I learned to babble and finally speak, crawl and finally walk, use the bathroom, and even feed myself. Over the years, I grew larger in size, became more coordinated, even a bit athletic, and slowly expanded my horizons. I attended schools and universities where I garnered a wealth of information. I started businesses, not a few, where I attained a modicum of wealth. I married, more than once, and raised children, several, over far too many years (but that’s another story). I moved several times and traveled to many faraway places. As I grew older my world got larger and larger.

And then it started shrinking. I am now settled down, settled in and considering retiring. My kids are grown and moved away (not so much, but that’s also another story). My workload is decreasing, my wealth of information is escaping (as is, unfortunately, my modicum of wealth) and my athleticism is rapidly becoming couch potatoism. I’m smaller in size (not so much smaller as shorter and wider), as is my vocabulary, of which I used to be quite proud.

I know the day is coming when I will become far less coordinated, followed soon by far less ambulatory. My vocabulary will no doubt shrink to a few hundred words and then a few dozen words, which I will insist are the really important ones. I’ll soon get to the point when I can no longer walk without a walker, when I babble instead of speaking, when I wear my depends with pride and have to drink all my meals.

Eventually I will re-enter that world of regimen, carefully controlled activities, and little excitement. I won’t be doing a whole lot except lying around and sleeping, and will again require constant attention and round-the-clock care. When even round-the-clock care is not enough, it is my fondest hope that I will depart this world as I came in, kicking and screaming.