I get up and shuffle down the hallway toward the garage to work out at 5:30 in the morning. First, my left big toe pops. Then my right knee. Then I feel a little tightness in my ankles, so I twist them one at a time and am rewarded with a satisfying pop from both. This reminds me of Dad.
Growing up we had a wood burning, cast iron, fireplace insert that we used to heat the living room. Dad was usually the first one up, and he’d get the fire started in the winter. Sometimes, however, I managed to get downstairs before him. I’d put some kindling on the embers from the night before and gently blow on them to get the fire going. It wouldn’t take long for Dad to wake up, and I always knew when he was heading down the stairs because I could hear him coming.
Dad would descend the stairs early in the morning and it seemed like every movement would bring a creak or a pop. Those joints had spent years jogging and playing racquetball, being in constant motion through the day. He loved being active, and he had the energy and stamina of a much younger person. This allowed him to play rough and tumble with his grand kids, and it enabled him to help folks in the church move a piano. That activity, after a night of stillness, would then lead to a cacophony of sound. Those first morning steps would loosen those tendons, and they’d snap, crackle, and pop like Rice Krispies in a cold bowl of milk.
I would, of course, tease him for his aging body parts, and he would critique my attempts to get the fire going.
“You can’t even kneel down here without popping and breaking something. Get out of the way old man and let me show you how it’s done.”
He’d respond, “I could still take you down with a broken leg … and you need more kindling. Do you think you can light it with the power of your morning breath?”
We’d laugh at each other’s jokes as if we were the most clever of souls. I know now that the Stevenson wit isn’t as keen as I once thought. Instead, we are blessed with a “low laugh threshold.” Pretty much anything is funny. Whether it was keen humor or plain silliness, the end result was the same. Comments about creaking joints and morning breath made us laugh.
It’s 5:30am. I turn on the lights to the garage and opened the garage door in preparation for this morning’s workout. I head back into the kitchen to get my shoes and my left knee pops. I think of Dad and chuckle. Yep, creaking joints are quite funny.