And Misfortune declared itself my best friend beginning when I was very young. Through my youth I've been knocked unconscious by the family German Shepherd and hooked in the butt with my own fishing line. Then there was the time after a class choir performance that (on a dare) I shoved the hook end of a wire hanger in my mouth. Minutes later my father walked into the classroom and saw choir-robe clad kids jumping in the air, pretending to take flight. I, on the other hand, sat huddled in a corner, hanger protruding from my mouth. With some help from the teacher and a few unintelligible choice words muttered under his breath, Daddy rescued me. He told Mama later that night that I'd looked like a gigged frog.
During my college years, I thought I'd out-grown my clumsiness. I could match strides with talented players on the soccer field without incident and leaping in the air, serve killer spikes during intermural volleyball games.
But during those same years on campus I once bounced down a flight of stairs on my rump (yeah, that's a good look), and knocked down the leading man during a play performance for a drama class. And how many people do you know that've fallen head-first into the Christmas tree or knocked down carolers like they were bowling pins?
As a young parent, I prayed that this plague would skip my children--unlike me, the boys would have the ability to walk across the floor and chew gum at the same time. Imagine my dismay when a short time ago, my older son slipped on a Tic-Tac™ at the grocery store and fell face-first into a display of bladder protection pads.
It looks as if the clumsy streak will be in my family for a while.