There is a long and involved back story as to why this is a biology blog, but part of it goes back to my dad who had no respect for biology at all, “biology” eventually becoming a euphemism for romance or really anything having to do with men and women, or our own physical limitations, that my dad didn’t want to think about. He’d roll his eyes, sneer, and simply mutter, “biology,” as if that explained everything that was all wrong.
In the last few years of his life, he moved into an apartment and became fast friends with a very talented biologist. I always thought that was the perfect ending to his story, God’s good-humored Schadenfreude in play. His biology buddy just so happened to detest physicists, so it really was a Divine appointment scheduled just on the outskirts of heaven somewhere. They had a blast together.
Being my father’s daughter, naturally I adored biology from day one, worms, caterpillars, plants, eggs, frogs, babies, relationships, romance. It’s somewhat comical, but you can merge all of that in with faith and arrive at an old childhood taunt, “every time you hold hands with a boy, the enemy falls over.” It was just a game, a dare, a rule, but if you were willing to hold hands with one of those sticky fingered, snot nosed, germ mongers called “boys,” someone on the other team had to fall over and play dead. That was how you slayed the enemy.
Let me tell you, it was often easier to just let the enemy stand and fight him for real than to hold hands with a boy. Ewwww….
I didn’t play with kids much growing up. The few times I did, I thought they were very odd and pecular creatures. That assesssment may have been accurate.
That old game has stuck with me, those words imbedded in my soul, the truth of them resonating to this day. I still feel it now in the adult world, the realization that every time you just slip your hand in someone elses, the enemy falls over. He deflates like a balloon, and sinks to the ground, all melodramatic in his twitchy death throes.
Recently my husband and I spent the day at the lake with family, eating fried chicken and lounging in the shade. It was quite lovely. We also took a bit of drive on the off roads and managed to perch ourselves a bit precariously somewhere between a mound and a ditch. There was a good scrape and we were defintely high centered, although I’m quite sure hubby would deny both of those things.
I’m quite smart, which means you must think your way out of problems carefully, meassure, calculate removing the trailor hitch that is now imbedded in the dirt…
My husband will have none of that, he is all bold and blustery, practically sneering at such ideas like…..actually thinking things through. As he has told me a million times, “if you’re going to do this thing, than you just do it, make a committment and step on the gas like you mean it.” And that is precisely what he said once again. This time however, he smiled, slipped in his hand into mine and said, “ready?” In an instant we were free with a cloud of dust, but as I looked down at our hands together on the seat, it was those words from long ago that I heard echoing across time, “every time you hold hands with a boy, the enemy falls over.”