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The Israeli Commando Raid : The Ok Oh News Recap

I have always thought I could jump quite high.  For a person of my build, that is. Then I met my wife and she informed me that I possess very long arms.  Perhaps I knew, vaguely, that the length of my arms are abnormal before my wife, but she really made a point of it.  I have trouble carrying bags sometimes.  If I let my arms hang, the bags ted to drag.  This gives my overall appearance, when combined with my relatively wide shoulders and torso, a gorilla quality.  A close friend refers to me as the clever silverback.  People with long torsos, very long torsos and relatively short legs, have a funny way of moving their bottoms when they walk.  As the cheeks are attached at such a proximity to the knees then ground, the trunk weighted just so atop, the bottom tends to move swiftly, shifting interest left, then right.  The Israelis boarded the Turkish ship at night.  The Israeli's steeling themselves just beforehand with their intimate knowledge of persecution.  The Turks, on their way to help their brethren, the downtrodden, gritted their teeth, trusting their mission to alleviate the injustice.  There was a time recently when the mass paranoia of the Israeli ebbed a touch, but that time seems to have passed.  There was also a time, recently, when the Turks seemed to smile a touch more, nodded and winked a little more.  This time seems to have passed.  The Kurds are apparently downtrodden.  The Armenian's were downtrodden.  The Cypriots are downtrodden.  The Palestinians are downtrodden. The Israelis pull from a vast cultural understanding of abjection then rejection.  The Turks from a well of power then failure.  The Israeli's boarded the boat to save themselves.  The Turks flash their knives to save themselves.  Everyone saving themselves.  Once, at a zoo in San Francisco, my wife took a photo of me standing in front of a painted cutout of a mountain gorilla standing upright.  My body, in the knee-length shorts and dark t-shirt, seemed to be an exact replica in a third.  Not long ago I was talking to a friend in the park who was taking IDF-inspired self defense classes from a Polish man in Greenpoint.  He explained to me the exercises, the rigor.  We talked about fighting and people who are good at fighting.  I do not know him overly well, but he looked at me and said "see, I'm not like you, I don't have that power at the end of a punch that you would have.  I get all soft out there. You, have that sort of blam." I do not know how he discerned this.  Two days ago my wife commented that our son and I have a similar sort of strength, at the ends of our limbs.  In France, they call a bodyguard un gorille. The fact is, I used to jump quite high but can no longer jump so high.  The mushy, squishy bits that act as shock absorbers where the leg bone meets the foot bone, in the ankle area, are worn very thin.  So I am told. This has the effect of making me, I think, less bouncy.  My wife's sister has told me on three different occasions that as we get older we lose our water.  We naturally, fundamentally dehydrate.  Sometimes when, in a fit of perceived necessariness,  I tell someone that I used to jump quite high, I wonder if they believe me.  I desperately want them to believe me.