Diminished Dad

Recent scientific research of great medical importance shows that during my adult life I have shrunk two inches.

“That’s not too bad,” the doctor’s medical assistant said, perhaps trying to reassure me.

I didn’t need reassuring, for it happens all over the place when spinal discs and vertebrae deteriorate.  It’s common enough so that via Google you can find more about height loss than you really need to know.

A couple of friends told me how much they’ve shrunk.  One’s loss was three inches, which brought him down to my former height, except I’ve shrunk below that height and the guy is still taller than me.

But I wonder where that two inches of microscopic bone decay went.  It could have spread out horizontally around my gut, which looks obvious, or maybe it just went poof into the atmosphere, from where it would become dust motes on the furniture.

There is, however, a larger issue at stake here.  Father’s Day is upon us, and my children will read this and learn that proof now exists that their father is not all he was made out to be.  He has been downsized, as measured clinically, and he is now a diminished dad (which sounds a little like a musical notation).

To that I must say:  Too bad.  I’ve got cold Oly nearby.  You guys will have to fend for yourselves.

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