Three Legs

Dad stopped the car at the corner and pointed down the street. “Bill, what do you think of that?”

I’d seen the old man before. Always, he hobbled on the side of the road and kept his balance with a cane. At my age, just looking at him embarrassed me. “He should stay home.”

Dad gave me a level look. “He wasn’t always like that. Once he was young and strong. Maybe, he’s a veteran from World War I.”

At 14, I knew more than my father and didn’t want to hear another lecture. I looked away and braced for the inevitable.

Dad pulled around the corner and accelerated. “Why do you think he’s using a cane? Something hurts, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He fights the pain and gets his exercise.” He glanced over at me. “I hope you have that kind of courage when you get old.”

Old? How on earth could I possibly get old? But life had other plans for me.

By the time I reached 60, with tender knees and an occasional stiff hip, I was still capable. Until the inner ear infection struck. My balance fled, and I couldn’t stand or even keep my eyes open without being violently ill.

My recovery left me with an unexpected gift: A third leg. Like the old man who embarrassed me 50 years earlier, I now need a cane.

Once again, I’m faced with wisdom from my father. I wonder if the kids who live nearby view me with the same mixture of contempt and embarrassment that I had when I was their age. I guess their opinion isn’t important. What matters is that I show youngsters the same courage that my father pointed out to me when I was too young to see it.

William R. Bartlett lives with his family (and his cane) in Belton.