The Old Coot leans to the
left. And the right.
By Merlin Lessler
I have a balance problem.
I’ve had it for years; I get along just fine with it. I often use a walking
stick, the same one I used to hike up the high peaks in the White Mountains of
New Hampshire with my daughters and son. It was a great adventure every year
starting in the mid 1970’s and ending with my last climb when I turned seventy-five.
Anyhow, the nerves in my legs have gone on strike; they tell my brain that I am
tilting to the side, when I’m not. It makes me adjust to the “fake news” from
below. My eyes recognize the lie and set me straight. In the process, I wander
from vertical a bit.
When someone asked me what
was wrong when they saw me with a stick, I would go into a long windbag
explanation of the balance issue. Now I lie, “Oh no big deal, I have a trick
knee.” (Who doesn’t at my age?) I had
two reasons for the lie. When I had explained the balance quirk it was too much
information and people’s eyes glazed over. And, their reply usually was, “I
always knew you were unbalanced!”
The other day I was
walking along East Main Street; Sister Mary O’Brien was coming toward me on the
opposite side of the road. “Hey Old Coot,” she yelled over to me. “What’s going
on with the stick?” I couldn’t lie to her; she can spot a lie a mile away, so I
went into the balance issue. She didn’t say it, but I could read what the grin
on her face said, “I always thought you were unbalanced, ha ha!”
I’m making this whole
thing sound more of an issue than it is. It compromises my lifestyle, not at
all. Except, there is always an exception isn’t there. Except, when I walk out
of a bar or restaurant serving adult beverages, places I go without the walking
stick. When I get up to leave, and have to weave through a crowd of people and
around tables, I look a little tipsy. I get a look that says. “Look at that old
guy; he’s drunk.” When I bump into people or a table, I quickly explain, “I’m
not drunk; I have a balance problem.” I doubt if anyone believes it. But it
makes me feel good. The only real danger I face, is getting stopped by the police
and made to walk a white line. I’d fail. I’d have to sit in the slammer until a
blood test showed my beverage of choice had been Pepsi Cola.
Comments, complaints? –
Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
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