The Y

Growing up I was not an athlete. I would much rather curl up in a chair and draw than follow the prompts of my parents to “Go out and play!” I was the guy that was always chosen last to be on a team – and I fulfilled that promise by dropping every ball that happened to head out in my area of the outfield while I was day-dreaming. But much later in life, when our group of friends decided to join the local “Y”, I shrugged and said “Why not?”. I have been here ever since. For my wife and myself, after years of racquetball and aquasize, it has meant a growing closeness to our early morning exercisers. We grew dependent on the “Y” – it became our daily start, and then the way we kept flexible and alert. The tragedy of Harriette's final years as she floundered into dementia were marked by her loss of accomplishments in the pool and in the ladies locker room where the dear friends she made slowly became her caregivers. The “Y” was the constant in out lives, where the nurturing by our friends and the “Y” staff became the strength that kept us going.