Jumping in Puddles

How to jump in puddles and not get hurt – life’s little lessons

I’ve always considered myself coordinated.  I play sports, with a certain degree of aptitude and grace.  I’m slower than I was, it just means I have more time to concentrate on the next move and not pull a muscle.  But one day, I fell . . . hard.  A healthy, and eerily beautiful Midwestern thunderstorm had blown though.  The pot holes and lowlands returned to their marsh like youth, and the time was ripe for . . . puddle jumping. 

I am of age, have been.  We often forget the revelry of youth.  The days when grass stained jeans meant you had fun, and it didn’t matter if you had been sweating all day playing in the field, because Danny’s mom would always have a cold bottle of water when you returned during the dog days of summer.  Dan is now a hundred miles away.  My youth seems like a hundred years ago.  But amid all the hustle of corporate offices, of the fear of losing a job, of self-imposed responsibility, we need to remember what puddles are really for . . . to be jumped in. 

Sure, you’ll get wet.  Your trousers will probably need to be treated before washing, assuming you don’t just take them off in the street (no pants make puddle jumping easier but legally problematic).  

Sure, you’ll look like a child.

Sure, you’ll feel like a child.

And isn’t it wonderful.  Revel in it.  Smile.  Laugh.  Forget about the ridiculousness of it all.  Forget the idea that adulthood is playing the straight man.  Who is on First is not a question, it’s a statement, and no one knows who is on third. 

We need to be reminded that being an adult is not about following every moral principle.  Decorum and kindness exist, and always will, and should never be thoroughly abandoned.  But fart jokes aren’t funny; they’re hilarious.   

But whatever you do, just before you jump, don’t slip in the mud.  Falls hurt more as you age.