Childlike

Childlike: (adj) of an adult, having good qualities associated with a child.

After avoiding it for decades, I finally went to one of my high school reunion luncheons, to meet up with the old gang, whom I had not seen since I held diploma in my hand and dreams fluttered in my brain like butterflies.

We were older.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that deems aging as either a crime or a disease rather than a natural situation which is meant to garner advantage.

What is the advantage of being older? You have sorted through the younger things to do and eliminated the ones that cause humiliation and disease.

That’s pretty powerful.

But what I discovered when I sat down to eat my lunch was that my classmates from a former time were very concerned about their health–cholesterol, salt intake, circulatory system and bladder. I probably should also throw in a few mentions of bowel movements.

It started off well, but when I ended up being glib and funny instead of decrepit and dying, a resentment settled into the room.

I think my friends found me childish. “That guy never grew up. Doesn’t he know there’s a certain protocol for being our age?”

I kept talking about the things I was still doing, the places I wanted to go, the things I was seeing, the passages I was writing and the songs being composed. I was not bragging. I was thrilled to be alive, to share with these old haunts.

Try as I would, the conversation was incapable of reaching the level of being childlike. I brought up some of our former escapades, only to discover that rather than giggling over the incidents, heads were dipped in shame.

I don’t know much about heaven. Nobody does. It is an advertised hot spot without an adequate brochure.

But from what I have learned, it will be a mind trip into discovering the joys of being childlike, simple, joyous, playful and jubilant.

I sure hope we’re up for it.

 

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Bladder

Bladder: (n) a membranous sac in which urine is collected for excretion.

Dictionary B

Irony.

As I write this essay, I have squeezed my legs together because I need to pee.

It’s called Phase #1: I hold my breath and wait for about ten seconds, and the urge temporarily passes.

It is the first warning from my bladder that eviction is inevitable.

I don’t know if there’s a part of the body that is quite as insistent as the bladder for taking over matters in such a threatening way.

I have waited until Phase #2 many times. This is where a twinge of back pain accompanies the urge to squeeze out. The body is letting you know that withholding the pleasure of urination is creating great distress within the natural chemistry.

Phase #3: a fear of moving because of double dribbling.

I have gone as far as Phase #4, when my internal workings basically say, “screw this,” and I begin to release with no option.

Therefore, even though we take great pride in being in control of our lives, we must always understand: the bladder is really the ringmaster.

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