A Battle with the Beast

“Dad, just to let you know, I think this is a bad idea.” I said to him as if I somehow knew of the disaster that would overcome us not minutes later. There are always those brief moments in a person’s life when he or she realizes that they are in a situation of complete helplessness. Those moments, sometimes only milliseconds in time, are ones that will never be forgotten. Perhaps it’s the second you realize your brakes are not going to stop you in time and the only thing you can do is hold on and prepare for impact. It might be the time you walked over the river on a log and briefly realized that you’d lost your balance. My dad and I encountered one of those brief moments several days ago that, even though it lasted no longer than the crack of a ladder, provided a figurative and literal impact.
Finally, my parents bought something to hang over the fireplace. (My mom has always been complaining about how boring it looked.) Before my dad had even stepped foot in the house with the object, my mother was already shouting my name across the house so that I could come assist my father in the masculine art of home-improvement. I found that it had to be hung by two anchors about ten to fifteen feet off the ground. The piece, half mirror and half ceramic decoration, was a lot heavier than the “twenty pounds” the salesman had told my father. By the way, did I mention the fact that it was really heavy?
We have two ladders in our household. One is an excellent tall ladder that’s made of fiberglass; the other is just the basic six foot aluminum ladder. My dad decided to go with the aluminum one because he felt it would be tall enough; it also had the added attraction of being a whole lot lighter. He would be the first to tell anyone who would see the crippled remains of what used to be that ladder, that this choice was where things turned ugly.
As we began to hang the behemoth I walked up the ladder and my dad handed it to me. Somehow, he would help me reach behind to capture its mighty reins and secure it on the two anchors, our picture hangers.
I remember telling my dad that I needed his help now rather than later. I had the beast held over my head at about the height of the anchor. There was only the need to catch the hanger wire, the mighty reins of this behemoth, to those well anchored hooks.
My dad saw that victory would take no more than for him to simply reach his hand out and place the wire over the anchor. Without even time to think my dad decided to climb up the other side of the ladder to reach the wire. This action created, without a doubt, a turning point. That previously mentioned moment would then unfold. Mo hadn’t been available at the moment, but dad and I (Larry and Curly) were on the job.
I can remember the ladder giving in toward my father and not wanting to have the piece fall on him. Beyond that, it was a split second of gravity rearing its ugly head. There was nothing left for us to do except fall. It looked as if the behemoth was heading for my father. Luckily, it missed him.
My dad was quick to point out, in his fatherly fashion, that his weight on the weak side of the ladder made for the ladder to buckle. This is easily seen by a look at the ladder. It’s in the same spot in the back yard that he threw it from the back door. This was after the round of “are you all right?”
We each required a band-aid or two, but small ones at that. The prized hanging has quite a few broken ceramic pieces, but somehow the mirror survived. More importantly, somehow we survived! If anyone would have seen how high we were, how heavy that so-called “work of art” was, or how we went airborne to become immediately acquainted with the floor, they would have bet on the emergency room. Fortunate enough for us however, this didn’t happen. We survived.
My dad and I have come to the conclusion that our next attempt should involve somewhat of a plan. I also anticipate that we will both understand our roles in that plan. Oh, and one more thing, we also decided that our next attempt will not involve an aluminum ladder. Neither of us is ready for another brief bout with gravity.