A repost of: A Stubbed Toe
The post below was originally from December 4, 2011. My dad’s birthday. It’s always been a holiday and it always will be. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Enjoy!
For the past nine months I’ve walked into and in front of people almost every day. If you’ve been on my right side you’ve been ignored, unnoticed and sometimes even gotten the inadvertent right hand slap. You know who you are.
One thing that surprisingly hasn’t happened is a stubbed toe. I’ve gotten in trouble for not seeing many things on right. Fortunately those thing haven’t been table legs, door jams or chairs. Well at least when I didn’t have shoes on.
I remember in 1993, Connie and I were living in the Chicago area as DINKS (Dual Income No Kids). We had a pretty simple life in Bloomingdale, IL. It was simple, but difficult for me being so far from home. After all it was 258 miles from where I grew up near Wayne, OH. That’s even 10 miles farther than Connie’s Luckey, OH address.
Most nights, for me, meant having dinner at the coffee table in front of the TV. Pizza was a frequent menu item. When Connie wasn’t preparing for the next day’s or week’s sales calls, we’d usually watch TV play a game of cards. It was either Uno or Rumy. The former was more fun because she always lost at Rumy. I probably wasn’t a very good winner.
This one particular night, I remember having a few beers after dinner and walking to the restroom. It was a small two bedroom apartment, so it was a five-step walk. Not being totally sober, I turned the corner and with full force hit my small toe on the door-jam of the restroom. The numbing agent kept the pain from being too bad, The next morning was another story
I hobbled for days and knew that the toe must be broken. But, we could I do? No doctor was going to be able help with the exception of pain killers. It was just something that I needed to deal with.
It would be tough to draw any parallel between a stubbed toe and brain surgery. But, that’s one of those life circumstances that may not define you but it goes into making you who you are.
I remember being “sick” and had to stay home from school. Nick, who is my brother that’s 10 years older than me, would always antagonize me. He seemed to know when I wasn’t sick and would poke and prod. How I dealt with that also made me who I am. Everyone should have grown up with seven older brothers. I can’t think of a better way to stay humble. They have no sympathy for stubbed toes.
I can’t have a post on December 4th without wishing Happy Birthday to two very important men, Wally Wagner (my dad) and Eric Gowans. These two were born 44 years apart, but you’d never know it. It’s true that my dad can talk to anyone and so can Eric. Life’s journey makes us what we are. I can’t imagine who I would be without either of them. Happy Birthday!