Yes kids can be completely and totally relentless at exercising their will over anything and everything. Not necessarily a bad characteristic provided it is tempered with a little humble humility and a most excellent sense of right and wrong. Even better, once they have survived their teens and moved outta y'er house. It is the last thing you look for in a pack of ravenous six year olds.
To recap, I had found myself, through a series of bad decisions, heavily out numbered and overwhelmed by seven, very young chilluns all running amok in the back yard. They were hungry, wanted the beanie off the roof and continued with a lot of verbal insubordination regarding both issues, aimed directly at me. The entire bunch was on me like a pack of hyenas on a downed gnu. "Yes I'm working on dinner. Yes, hot dogs for everyone. Yes Pat too, even if he did throw the beanie on the roof by A accident". (I was beginning to speak like 'em). And "No! I will NOT be going on the roof to get the beanie. Absolutely not permitted under all rules regarding kid maintenance. No Ifs, Ands or Buts".
Now I don't know a lot about kid sitting and I haven't actually read any rules, but I am quite sure that 'Do Not Climb On Roof" to get a birds eye view of the critters play-by-play, has gotta be in the top twenty of anyones Thou Shall Not List, if not the top five.
I DID HAVE IT RIGHT AT FIRST!!!!! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED????
Looking back, I can quite comfortably understand that heading to the roof for any reason what so ever, whilst tending kids, is completely unacceptable. And take it from me, should you choose to do so, you will have no defence what so ever, when the Sheriff returns to town.
In the spirit of absolute honesty, when I came up with that whole "Why don't you head on over to the gym" thing, I did have somewhat of a selfish, ulterior motive buried, not so deep in my muddled subconscious. While it is true that I love my Angel dearly, on all levels of our relationship, and I did truly want to assist her with some relaxation time, I was mostly thinking......... it's Friday night. The weekend. If I step up on this, the odds on 'une petit morceau de grand d'amour' later tonight, will be greatly enhanced.
So I had the bucket of Madras smoking on the stove 'cause she hasn't been stirred in some time. The hot dogs and their fixin's as far as the table outside. The Q still remains unlit. The washing machine was honking it's horn calling for soap or softener or some other, God knows what, and the phone just kept on ringing. And ringing. And ringing. A lot. I though I still had all this under control, but the reality couldn't have been further from the truth. I just hadn't recognised it yet.
None of all that was the major concern. The real issue here was I had begun to weaken. And the irrefutable conclusion had by now, settled front and centre. These kids are not going to let this beanie thing go until he/she/it is rescued and back in the game. Yes, yes I tried to decoy 'em with everything I had. Balls of all shapes and sizes. A foamy Nerf, puck like thing and hockey sticks galore. A Frisbee. A back yard full of toys, toys, Toys, TOYS!! And I even tried my best Bait and Switch on 'em cause, after all, I am A SALESMEN GODDAMMIT!! AND A GOOD ONE AT THAT!!! Or so I thought. Nuthin worked. Nada. Zippo. Forget it. Should have just lit that Q and fed 'em.
But kids are relentless. Overwhelming brutal in their assault. Grinding and grating non stop. Wearing you down until all common sense has long since fluttered away and you are reduced to instinctive, primal behaviour, completely bereft of rational, clear thought. As was explained by the pack, ad nausium, the beanie was as much a part of the game as any of the kids. You couldn't have one of the kids not play, so how could you expect the beanie to sit on the bench? I'm sure he/she/it was expected to join 'em for dinner! I guess I'm just not thinking like a kid. Unfortunately though, by this time, I'd all but caved. I'm now behaving like a two year old. Shoulda put Bubba in charge.
I head to the garage for the ladder. Shouda gone in, closed the door, turned on the car and breathed deep. T'wood have been easier.
A week earlier, my neighbour had borrowed my ladder. She's a beaut! The ladder that is. A twenty footer, telescoping, all aluminium. That's what good neighbours do. Lend stuff and bring it all back. And I have always prided myself on excellent relations with neighbours. Now I'll admit, I'm usually on the 'borrowing' side of the equation, 'cause I guess I'm less of a "Tool Guy" and more of a "TOOL". But this time I'm on the lending side. And as it turns out, the pivoty, rubber-foot-pad-thingee, gets bent in the process. Neither of us noticed the damage.
I had lived in this bungalow for seven years. I have been on the roof many times. Often for cleaning the eves but I got to admit, nice view of the hood. Secluded. Not a bad spot for quiet relaxation when trying to avoid all the nonsense goin' in the cheap seats. THAT observation , had nothing to do with my ultimate decision but somehow the ladder went up. Same place the ladder always went up. Back side of the house, left of the door, right of the picnic table. It's the lowest point of access with a good solid surface, for to which, plant said ladder. Concrete patio tile. Solid, And in spite of the beanie resting peacefully on the front side of the house, better the tried and true. Same as always n' cross the house on foot. That's the smart thing to do. Sound, logical planning. What could go wrong?
And would you believe that I was in such a rush to 'git 'er done', I didn't even take the time to put on work boots? Would you believe...............shoes? No? Slippers? The sad truth was, I somehow came to the conclusion that it would be perfectly acceptable to do this 'as is'. Which happened to be with bare feet. Even swim fins would have been better.
I told the kids to go around to the front and wait for me there. I'd be over in a jiff. They raced off. Shoulda gone in the house and locked the door.
The twenty foot ladder rested on the roofs edge fifteen feet up. I gave 'er a couple of good shakes, checked on the angle and scampered right up. I stood, six feet above and just to the side, of the roof. Both feet on the rung and two hands on the top of the ladder. I stepped with my right foot from the rung towards the roof top and things went awry very quickly.
As soon as my weight shifted right of centre from the ladder, the bent footing gave way and the ladder slid quickly left along the roofs edge. I was thrown off balance, backwards and to the right. Away from the house, fifteen feet up, above the concrete. With no shoes. And seven kids.
If there was any good fortune to be found in any of this, it had to be the fact that I had spent the last year in serious training. And through that process, I had lost 50 pounds. I was nimble. Stupid, but nimble. The scene unfolded in what seemed like an eternity. I still have dreams about it fifteen years later. A terrifying sense of helplessness and sheer panic as to how bad this is going to end. In reality it took about two seconds, top to bottom. Not much time to consider what best to do. Granted, had I been thinking at all, I wouldn't be here.
No chance to make the roof and stick. I figured the next best bet was to try a one hundred and eighty degree turn, away from the house. Face forward so as to not land on my head or my back. I twisted in the air and as I passed by the roofs edge, I reached out with my right hand, grabbed the eves and ripped it from the house. Not enough to break the fall but maybe enough to slow things down and mitigate just a little of the damage. Right. I landed square on both feet, bent my knees and rolled forward off the patio and on to the grass. Just like I was taught. Piece of cake. Right.
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