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The Glorious Unisphere

One of the best things about being a kid is that you get to look forward to so much stuff.

Going to a ballgame with your Dad. Miniature golf with your Cousins. Fishing with your favorite Uncle.

Actually I’m just guessing here, because I didn’t really have a dad. Or cousins. Or any uncles, much less a favorite.

What I did have was a Mom and an older Brother.

And one thing I did look forward to was the World’s Fair. My Mom took my Brother and I there in 1964 when I was eight, and I had a terrific time!

Subway fare for the three of us was 90 cents (round trip!). They charged my Mom and Brother $2 apiece to get in, but only $1 for me because I wasn’t 12 years old yet. And after we entered, every attraction was free.

The ‘Bell System’ Pavilion, which was part of AT&T, was really cool. They had futuristic telephones on display that had push buttons instead of dials, and they really worked! I got to make a free call to my Grandmother (I had one of those, too).

She didn’t understand what I was talking about when I told her about the push buttons.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about with the push buttons!” she said, annoyed, before hanging up.

They had pavilions from countries from all over the world, and plenty of cool rides, too. The place was huge, and built right next door to a brand new ballpark, somewhere in Queens.

There were long lines for some of the attractions, but it proved not to be an inconvenience for us; I saved the day. Because I was a child, I found it easy to cut the line with no one noticing. After a few minutes, my Mom and Brother would wander by, acting as if I had been there all along, holding their place on line. Worked every time!

Plus, all the people who worked at the World’s Fair were so nice! They wore uniforms, and were all so happy to see me!

I couldn’t wait to go back the following year. Couldn’t fall asleep the night before – I was so excited! I got up early the next morning, got dressed all by myself (a rarity) and was ready to go by 9:00am.

At 9:01am, my Mom announced that my brother was running a fever, so we had to stay home.

“Wait…what?!?” I responded.

“You heard me,” my mom said, then went into the kitchen to call the doctor.

I was so upset and disappointed. But I forgave my brother. Eventually.

When I was a boy, I used to think anyone who was 70 years old was ancient!

Now that I actually am 70, I find that I was absolutely correct.

I do, however, currently have one advantage over my younger self: I have something to look forward to that I know cannot be taken away, no matter how my brother may be feeling;

I am going to get to have my third surgery in three months, come hell or high water, and I can’t wait!

The surgeons are going to reconnect my intestines. How cool is that?!??

I’m going to have to be at the hospital early in the morning, and I just know I’m going to have trouble falling asleep the night before – I am going to be so excited! But I’m gonna get up early, get dressed all by myself (a rarity) and be ready to go by 9am.

When my wife and I arrive at the hospital, I will be called into an office to answer some pretty difficult questions: Name. Date of birth. Address. If I answer correctly, I will be asked to join my wife in the waiting area.

I will be pacing like an expectant father by the time they call my name! Into a room I will be led. My clothes will go into a bag, I’ll wrap myself in a couple of gowns, and into a bed I will go.

My wife and one or two of my (grown) children will soon appear by my bed. As will my brother (as long as he’s not running a fever).

We will trade some witty banter for awhile. Then the most pleasant people will come in to the room to introduce themselves to me! They will all be wearing uniforms, and be so happy to see me!

A nurse. An anaesthesiologist. An IV installer. Another nurse. A patient transporter!

And they will all ask the same questions: Name. Address. Date of birth. And I will have all of the answers!

It will be a pretty good time. Not World’s Fair good, but good.

Then the transporter will reappear, I’ll wave so long to my people, and off we will go.

After a fun four minute ride whisking through the halls, my transporter will wave his I.D. card in front of a sensor on the wall and a couple of doors will swing open. Before I know it I will be in a cold room with lots of machines and stainless steel and bright lights and people wearing surgical masks.

All conversation will come to an abrupt halt when I am rolled in. I will be the sole focus of their attention! They will all stare down at me.

It will be a bit scary, I must admit.

Then I will be transferred to a very cold table, and covered in a warm blanket. The surgeon will be sharpening his scalpel, preparing to reopen the very incisions that just took 14 weeks to heal.

“How are you doing?” he will ask me. I will bravely respond with a cheerful, “Great!”

Then a mask will cover my mouth and nose, and I will drift off to some other place.

Soon, the surgeons will get busy, slowly reattaching my intestines, trying to put me back together after my great fall. After three hours they will have completed their job, and I will be as good as new.

I will wake up in a hospital room four hours later.

Or not…