Jump

So, people are asking me if I'm really going to do the polar plunge. It's funny. This makes number four but even people who know me forget I do this every year. I got involved with it because:

a) My daughter took part in the Special Olympics and while it didn't necessarily mean much to her, it meant a lot to me. I saw a lot of people raising kids under extraordinary circumstances, spending time together and having a good time in safe, kind environment where nobody is weird.

b) There's a t-shirt.

I almost didn't do it this year. Last year, I hurt my shoulder. I pulled a muscle, strained a tendon --I have no idea, but it hurt and continues to hurt every once in a while. Plus, last year, at the last minute, the Special Olympics people sprung a fireworks display on us and made us wait extra to basically feed the ego of an energy company who decided to donate fireworks.

In my mind, there really wasn't the kind of crowd to merit dropping a couple of grand on bottle rockets. It was sort of pretty, from what I could see, but most of us were under the shelter and the pyrotechnics were obscured.

But... It is for a cause I believe in. I don't write a lot about my kids or Autism or being a parent in a special needs family. Without dwelling too much on the obvious, it's hard. The hours are long, the pay sucks and sooner or later you question everything. It will make you bitter, if you let it.

I believe in the Special Olympics because they're there for people like me and my children.

So, fuck it, I'll keep jumping in the water as long as I'm able --even if Massey energy donates pole dancers and a mime for this thing.

Anyway, open invitation.

Saturday at Appalachian Power Park, 6 p.m. they'll line us up like a bunch of convicts waiting for the scaffold. Most of us will be dressed in swimsuits of one kind or another. There is always at least one cute girl in a string bikini and at least one old geezer in a pair of black briefs you wish his grandchildren would have hidden. Everyone will be pale. Everyone will be shivering and the smart ones will have a couple of drinks in them. The dumb ones will have a lot of drinks in them.

They'll line us up and we'll go two at a time into a big swimming pool that will feel like murder the second your skin touches the water. It's good fun --not for us, but for you. Come on out. Bring your checkbook.

But you can't have my t-shirt.