Behold! The antique china cabinet dwells in the wrong room. And as told in the great prophecies about great men, I shall convey it to the basement.
“You’re not going to pick that thing up,” my wench says. A beautiful lass that I had thus married over 20 years afore. She is pretty on the eyes with a mind as sharp as a Damascus blade, but she lacks the courage of the strong.
I summon my minions over. Plucky little adventurers of the teenage years, and one smallish man that has not yet seen his first beard. As my legend is strong, a boon companion of my daughter joins us because I made him a repast and he must repay my kindness.
“Lift with your legs,” I say to my warriors. We lift the top of the china cabinet off. Our knees buckle as we fight with the solid oak contraption. Gravity is my foe but my will as strong as my bulging biceps.
“You’re going to hurt your back!” my wife says.
She speaks of what she knows not, for she implies that my back isn’t already injured from many years of doing great feats such as this. In my 20’s, my strength was legendary, unstoppable. In my 30’s, the muscles bulged. In my 40’s, I hurt my back clambering up a set of stairs and it has never been right hence. I may hurt my back more, but that is not what she said for she is foolish, my pretty one.
My army lowers the top of the china cabinet to the floor where I have placed a strategic piece of cardboard. In any war, strategy comes first, and tactics come second. It is my strategy to have the cardboard in place before the heavy lifting. It is my tactic to have the soldiers push the china cabinet while I pretend that my back doesn’t hurt. This tactical rest allows me to hide my weakness because no china cabinet shall see that I am wounded. To do so would give it an advantage, and so I deny it that opportunity.
“You hurt your back, didn’t you?” says the lady of I told you so. Sometimes I forget that she has prophetic properties. In our youth, she once prophesied that I would get old. In my old age, my strength would begin to fade like a summer wind over the horizon. Nay, it could not be true. I shall never get old. My knees feel shaky as my beasts of burden push the china cabinet toward the basement door. My future had been told, as unbelievable as it is.
At the door, I give my commands. “Ok, I’ll be at the bottom of the stairs. Just push the china cabinet on top of me.” In the air, doubt wafts as if a foul odor. But I have calculated my battle plan and accepted there might be casualties.
“Did I just hear you say ‘push the china cabinet on top of me?’” my witch says. “Did I really just hear you say that?”
“Fear not! For I am going to use gravity itself to do the work! I have mastered nature and now it does my bidding!” I tell her. She tries to act like she is not impressed. She has taken my strength for granted.
When we were younger, before the aging prophecy came to pass, she often availed herself of that strength. “Shannon, pick up this chair and move it up three flights of stairs,” she once said. Not once did she mention my back. “Shannon, lift this car with one hand please.” Do I exaggerate on my feats? Stop asking questions, this is my story.
Instead, she was attracted to the strength of my mind. The ability to make her laugh, and snort. True, my mind is handsome. But my ability to lift heavy things seems more useful, especially since the minions do push the china cabinet down the stairs.
I catch the cabinet with my shoulder, and the epic battle begins. My army cheers as my wife shakes her head.
“I’ll get the aspirin,” she says but I can tell that once again she is in awe of my abilities. My feet dig into the wooden stairs. My neck veins pop. The dog runs to me. As man’s best friend, he must be by my side at all times. Especially when I’m enacting feats where I would prefer he wouldn’t trip me.
Slowly, I maneuver the china cabinet to the floor. The oaken beast is beaten, and my men (and one woman) quickly follow me down and cheer.
“Ah, Dad, you are so great,” one of them probably says.
“I’m so glad I have more of your genes,” undoubtedly thinks another.
“Hey, so that might have been a bad idea because something feels off,” says my back. There is a twinge in the middle, almost as if a vertebra has just given it’s 2 weeks’ notice. I walk slowly back up the stairs to the sound of my victory.
“You hurt your back, didn’t you?” says my wife.
“A little bit,” I answer as the kids prepare for the bottom part of the china cabinet. She could have said I told you so. She could have reminded me that one does not change destiny or your age.
Instead, she leans close to my ear. The warmth of her love overwhelms me. Her scent will always remind me of home.
“It’s your own damn fault,” she says.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock