The older I get, the more I dislike stairs. I am beginning to understand the attraction many older people have to ranch-style homes. I never thought that day would come. Then again, I said the same thing about mini-vans, bland foods and hearing aids.
Stairs provided an incredible playground in my childhood home. Our basement was unfinished; even the back part of each step was open. They were just wide enough for me to crawl through, so I did — dozens of times each day. Of course, I grew, and the inevitable day came when my skull became stuck between the steps. I yelled for my brother Steve for help. He was upstairs, and I didn't think about the added pressure that would happen to my head when he ran down the steps. He apologized — kind of — and then laughed repeatedly as he pried the steps apart and set me free. That was the last time I tried crawling through the steps.
Meanwhile, the fun on the steps continued. As kids, we learned to play with whatever was available. As such, tire inner tubes were objects of immense fun. I had a small inner tube with a white canvas cover strapped around it. I think the intent of the cover was to create a mini-trampoline of sorts, but Steve and I discovered other uses. That inner tube was narrow enough to fit between those same basement stairwell walls, and Steve thought it would be fun to slide down the steps on it. Of course, he wanted me to go first. I quickly learned that leaning forward would create a somersault … face plant … somersault … face plant result. Steve assured me I would do better on the second round, so I tried again, this time leaning back. This result was spectacular: a spill-free, bumpy slide down the stairs. We did this over and over and over — until the next challenge surfaced.
This contest was a standing long jump of sorts, except down the stairs with that trusty canvas-covered inner tube at the bottom for safety purposes. It started simply enough, with a jump from the bottom step to the base. We then increased by one step each time and allowed the other to match it. I became quite good at this, outjumping my big brother, who had the added challenge of trying not to hit his head on the ceiling. I am not sure how many steps there were, but I know I safely and successfully made my way to the top step. This final jump was an intimidating one, as I couldn’t get Evel Knievel out of my mind. My brother encouraged me to accept the challenge, so I did. I sailed through the air, eyes wide open, legs outstretched, prepared for another successful landing. And land I did — on my tailbone on the bottom step.
That bruising marked the end of the stairwell games, and those memories may also explain my newfound attraction to ranch homes.
Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.
Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@dmcityview.com |
