It has been very difficult for me, when looking back on this little escapade, to justify just what the Hell I was thinking. And it really wasn't about the kids at all. The real issue here was the loss of fifty pounds and the feeling of empowerment that came with it. I had been in a gym, six days a week for over a year. And I was feeling somewhat invincible for the first time in my life. I often found myself standing around the house, watching TV or listening to music and I would routinely and effortlessly lift either leg (okay, only one at a time) up over my head, stretch 'em out and back down. Kind of Neo like. From the Matrix. Round house. Slow and methodical. 'Cause I could. That's what katas were all about. And the feeling was fantastic. It had become routine that I would spend most of my time around the house 'without no shoes on' to aid in this behavior, anywhere, anytime.
Yes, heading to the roof when looking after kids is never the right thing to do. But I was in a mindset that anything was possible. The kids were just the catalyst.
I knew immediately that the damage was extremely serious. I had no idea how bad, but the pain was the most excruciating I had ever experienced in my thirty odd years. 'Odd' being the operative word here. I sat in the back yard with my legs flat on the ground in front of me. The kids no where in sight. They were still gathered around the front waiting for my appearance over the roof. The ladder was down. Laying on the ground beside the house, ten feet from me. I was a good fifteen feet from the house, spread over the soft green grass, just off the edge of the hard, concrete landing pad.
I was broken 'real bad'. The pain was isolated in my two feet. Nothing else at the moment. Just the feet. Mind you, the pain was so intense, I really couldn't say if anything else hurt or not. One thing I've learned over the last eighteen months is that pain is a relative thing. If ever you've got a migraine that you just can't manage, smack your thumb with a hammer. You'll forget all about the head ache.
In the first sixty seconds, my ankles were already beginning to show signs of serious internal bleeding and bruising, all the pretty colors of red, purple and blue. Green and yellow took a little longer to arrive. And the swelling had begun that wouldn't stop for three days. Always the eternal optimist I was thinking..... bad sprain. Unfortunately I was pretty sure that wasn't true because I had landed squarely, flat footed, tucked and rolled. As I was trying to fight off waves of nausea, I was sucking in air like an industrial Hoover. In through the nose, out through the mouth. And I was shaking my head vigorously side to side, trying to stay (get) clear headed. Perhaps for the first time today.
I had a vague recollection of a group of kids coming 'round the house, returning to the scene of the crime. They surrounded me. Spiker said " What are you doing sittin' there Dad? C'mon get up. We didn't see you get the beanie. Where's the beanie Dad? C'mon get up. What are you doing Dad"? I was rocking back and forth in silence, a huffin' and a puffin', trying to form words to put together a sentence. Still thinking the best thing to do was to heave my guts out. The rest of the kids look on. Then gentle as a mouse, the youngest of the bunch, the only girl present, MY baby Bubba, quietly strikes her best Marilyn Monroe pose, something she would go on to do a lot of through most of preschool, not because she had ever seen Marilyn or in fact knew anything about such matters, but rather just because instinctively, she had it in her, and she leans in close, through the boys, and quietly whispered "911 Daddy"? That's my girl. I knew I shoulda put her in charge.
No comments:
Post a Comment