Bouncing Back Or Why I'll Wear a Rubber Suit if I Have To

Because my mom was my teacher for both kindergarten and first grade, she literally taught me to read. Which means, she can't give me grief for reading books at ballgames and embarrassing my sisters -- she's the one who started it.

She figured up one time -- in her forty-some years of teaching, she taught 1000 kids to read. That's a far better stat than "yards after catch" or "runs batted in". How amazing to be responsible for so much literacy in the world.

She's taken some falls in recent years. In fact, I've threatened to make her a rubber suit so if she falls again, she'll bounce back. But she does that anyway -- she bounces back. I went with her yesterday to her physical therapy appointment. She's struggles with movement I take for granted -- bending a knee or lifting a leg straight up, even walking backwards, but she never complains. When the therapist asked her to do something, she just said, "OK," and did it as best she could. That has to be refreshing for the therapist -- I'm thinking of myself as a potential whiner in the same situation.

It's also true, as one of my sisters pointed out, that Mom also wants to prove she can do it, which actually consoles me considerably because I see myself more and more in her -- the Ham family stubbornness (I get it from the Keenans too.), the smart aleckness (that might be all Mom), and the determination to get the hell out of a hospital bed and stay independent.

It struck me during this last stay in the hospital how much she's still teaching me -- how she's teaching me to always bounce back.