73 is the new 53

I couldn't help but gasp, as I clicked on the photo of my 73 year old mother waiving from her rooftop.
I am now convinced that 73 is the new 53. What the hell was she doing on the roof, and more so, why?
And who in their right mind took the photo? Okay, it was Daddy, he emailed it to me, and he's always in his right mind.

Actually, in all honesty, I really wasn't all that surprised to see it. After all, my mom went para sailing in Jamaica, and has always been the type of Grandma that would take the grand kids to the park, climb up the tornado slide, slink down the vertical poles, and push the kids on the swings. I was the one who would tire, get hot, and go sit on the bench in the shade, waiting for Grama to tire my kids out. But the kids seemed to tire out long before Grama was finished playing. I remember one time coming to pick-up the kids at her house and to my horror, found my Mom down on all fours, with my youngest son riding on her back, like a pony. He had tied shoestrings and those lace-up puzzles were dangling from her back. When they noticed I was studying their strange game, I started to laugh in wonder and amazement. Even though her grand kids now are all grown and one has a child of his own, Mom still has cool toys in her garage, for when we all come to visit. She has a cool wooden train whistle, a red wagon, a pogo stick, and even some stilts. She used to have this really cool rubber band-shooting riffle, but it mysteriously disappeared after an "incident" when one of my boys nearly shot their eye out.
When we were little, she always saw to it my sisters and I had cool toys to play with.

One year she even went to work for a toy company, in order to earn extra cash for Christmas presents.

From the time she was a young girl, she loved to play ball with her brothers.  I can remember being old enough to be babysat by my older sisters, we would spend hours at the baseball fields. Mom was an avid first baseman, who would continuously turn double and triple plays. You could always count on her to get the person out on first, and do the splits and snag someone out, with her viciously accurate arm. We would put small rocks in empty soda cans we would find under the bleachers. Shaking our noisy cans, behind the fence, while cheering our Mom and her team on to victory. I remember how proud I was of her, when her team crushed her division, and went to the state championships. She had her very own aluminum bat, which she would use to regularly put the softball over the fence.

With her awesome power and love of the game, you would hear her chatting it up, "Come on girls, two down and the plays at home". In hindsight, I think she was making up for all the games she didn't get to play as a child, because they rarely had a ball to play with. I remember hearing her tell about the time her brothers asked if they could use her doll's head for a ball. I do know that she was more into playing ball, than playing with dolls, so who knows.....maybe she did give in and let them use it.

Among other things I remember Mom doing was to put her old 1950's roller skates on and skate up and down the bumpy sidewalk, in front of our suburban house. The excitement seemed to draw all the kids out of their houses, to check out the sight. I remember feeling so proud, watching her skating around.

Besides roller-skating, Mom was also a skilled water skier. So skilled that Dad could never dump her, no matter how hard he tried. When I was very young I remember Dad would take my sisters and I piggy-back skiing. That was fun for us, but Dad always had to keep reminding us that we were holding on so tight we were choking him.  (Sorry Dad!). I think Dad liked to drive the boat more than skiing himself. One of my most favorite water skiing memories was when I was a teen. Mom and I were being pulled around the lake while Dad  was on a mission to make huge circles with the boat until Mom and I wiped out. He was as determined to make us fall, as we were to not take a spill. As we hung on for dear life, the waves got larger and choppier, our arms and legs felt weaker by the moment. With each new wake crashing into the waves from the last circle we made. When the waves were coming at us from all directions, Mom motioned her arm for me to take the calmer lane directly behind the boat. She battled on, with the largest waves in the outside lane. It was either our adrenaline or our insatiable need to prove to Dad that we had the strength and courage to hold on and take what ever he could dish out. Proudly, somehow we both managed to hang on and never wipe out.

Mom was the very best slalom water skier I'd ever seen. For years, we would go on these fabulous summer vacations to our favorite lake. Wading out into the lake, until the water was just past her knees, Mom would slip on one ski, gather up the tow-rope, and yell, "Hit it!" to my Dad. You would hear the exciting sound of the boat's engine going full throttle. The very second the slack ran out of the rope, and jerked, she would magically step up on to the surface of the water, and viola....she was skiing. She would wear her sunglasses and this blue two piece swim suit and a belted life preserver. Once she was across the lake, she would remove her left foot from the binding, and grasp the handle with her foot. She would then lock her fingers together, behind her head and lean way back, making big rooster tails. Back and forth, across the wakes, back and forth, never falling. She was so athletic and strong.

She had all the grace and strength just like the members of "The Tommy Bartlett Water Ski Show". 

I can remember how patient Mom was when she taught me how to ski. She kept saying, "Relax, and bend your knees". Crunch yourself up into a ball, and when the boat starts pulling you, keep your legs together and stand up slowly". I was so afraid of the sting from getting water up my nose. So I would just let the boat drag me and my skis for a bit and then just give up and let go. As an adult now, looking back, I feel bad that I tried Dad's patience by being so timid about learning. I tried and tried, until one time, with Mom's encouragement, I hung on and stood up. It was exhilarating and once I overcame the fear, I couldn't get enough of the feeling of gliding across the water. I was never the skilled skier that my Mom once was, but none the less, I hung on and learned how to do it.

For a few short years in the 70's, our state had a professional soccer team. One hot summer day, we attended a match. My sisters and I seemed to be more interested in the large sodas at the snack bar and the trendy light blue and orange t-shirts and visors they were selling, than the game itself. At intermission, the announcer instructed everyone over the age of 18, to immediately look under their seat for a sheet of paper that would enter you in a goal kicking contest, if you so chose. I don't remember what the prize was, but that remains irrelevant to this day. As we checked under our seats and only found used chewing gum, we heard Mom yell, "Hey, I got it!". I remember feeling extra proud of Mom at that very moment. As Dad gave her the nod of approval, she excitedly headed down to the field to kick the goal. Watching Mom head down towards the field, I noticed she was wearing sandals and thought for a second that might be a problem, and yelled "Good luck Mom!" But no, she wouldn't let a little thing like sandals hold her back from this once in a lifetime experience. Our seats were so far back that you had to squint to check out Mom's competition, as they started lining up on the field below. My sisters and I watched patiently until the official motioned that it was Mom's turn to kick the goal. Mom started running towards the ball and gave it a nice hard kick. The ball went up, but to our surprise, it fell short of the goal. We clapped and shouted in support. Even though Mom missed the goal, she was a winner in our hearts. I glanced over at Dad and he had one of the hugest grins on his face I've ever seen him wear.

So when I telephone my parents, and Dad answers the phone, I've got to be patient while waiting for Mom to come to the phone. Because you just never know what she could be "up to".