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In my school days I was active in athletics, football, basketball, pole
vaulting on the track team.  If I wasn't out on the court or field of
play the sport held no interest for me.  I had no desire to be anything
other than what we called a "starter."  Any coach who took me out of the
game, even for a brief rest, was on my list of undesirable people. If I
wasn't a full time star I was nothing (and I was seldom a star).

Winning, perfect performance, those were personal expectations, and they
continued in the game of life for many years.  My expectations always
exceeded my willingness to work, and the stress this added ground me down
a little more each day.  As these traits put so much subjective pressure
in my life, I began to falter.  As my defects started to make my
performance unravel, liquid courage became my way of staying in the game.

Finally, I crashed on wobbly legs and was carried off the field of play.
I was put in jock rehab and taught about a Power Greater that myself.  I
was told that there was more to life than the game, and that the game
could be played by more gentle rules.

But inevitably I charged back onto the field, though I'd like to think in
a more thoughtful and gentle way.  This sometimes led to comic results,
as when I would smile and wave encouragement to the opposing half back as
he ran past me toward the end zone.  My fellow players would chide me
into tackling him the next time, telling me I was shirking my "duty" to
the team by "loving my enemies." (What the hell kind of trial attorney
are you?")

So most of the time for the next few years I tackled anyone who tried to
run through my position, but secretly refused to get excited when the
other team experienced success, as long as it didn't embarrass me
personally.  I even slipped more and more into the black and white
stripes of a referee after being told I was better suited to be a
mediator of the contest than a player in the game.  For ten years I
filled this neutral role, but I was still on the field, still taking the
game very seriously.

And then came Parkinson's.

As my legs began to feel like I was running through a vat of molasses,
fear and self pity set in.  Why me?  How can I keep influencing and
controlling?  Will I even be able to stay in the game?  I will be of no
value if I'm not doing my duty. No one will respect me.  I won't survive
financially, (ad nauseam)

I turned to the Coach, and this time, instead of the one named "Mi Ego,"
who had always told me to "suck it up, get back in there and hit
somebody, " this new Coach, brought to me by the spiritual teaching I
learned after being knocked out of the game the first time, this Coach
found a willing heart when He said, "I've been watching you on the field
long enough.  It is time for you to take a rest, sit out and watch, maybe
a period or two, maybe the rest of the game.  Rest, observe, and we will
see.  I promise you that if you will sit with patience and observe with
an open heart, you will will understand safety and love and you will be
transformed."

At first the voice of that old coach echoed in my ear.  I fretted, I was
unhappy and felt victimized.

But then, watching from my new home on the bench, I noticed I could see
far more of the action than when my whole world was the"guy across the
line as a player, or breaking up a fracas as a referee.  Next I began to
realize that what I was watching was a GAME.  It was not something to
take too seriously.  In the heat of battle I had lost sight of anything
outside the playing field, but from the bench I had time to notice the
birds flying over the field, unmindful of the importance of the contest
below.  I could see the majestic mountains in the distance, sensing
instinctively  that lovers were walking trails to the summit, hand in
hand, unmindful of the contest as the pursue their own path.

Relieved of the stress of battle, the distraction of intense
concentration on the next play, it slowly dawned on me that I could play
a new and far more peaceful role in life, even more peaceful than that of
referee.   I could be one of the Water Boys for both teams.  I learned
that a capable Water Boy doesn't  judge, penalize or discriminate between
one team or the other, but must carry water to anyone interested in a
drink.  And I found the Coach smiles just as often at us Water carriers
as He does the hard charging competitors.

Now that I am breaking in at this new position (one I always felt only
nerds and wimps would fill), I understand that, no matter how intense the
contest, no matter how long it lasts, and no matter what the outcome,
each of us needs the water of Love.  Until I got benched by Parkinson's I
didn't realize that I can look past the uniforms, the team loyalties, the
action on the field and see the real core of all of us present and former
players, and that is (help me here doctors) something like 90 percent
water.

Without Parkinson's this new job would never have appealed to me, yet
today it feels like something I was born to do, so I guess gratitude and
Parkinson's must fit into the same sentence.  No matter what lies ahead
in my journey with PD, I can always carry the water.

Sincerely,
Aspiring Water Boy (or Water Person if you prefer, as most of the Water
Boys I know are actually of the other gender)
Chuck