The Attic Incident

The Attic Incident

“I was out in the yard doing some garden work, covered in dirt, when my phone rang.

Pulling it out of my pocket, I held it between my shoulder and my ear, it was your father, in the house, twenty feet away... ‘Hello Sam,’ I said pretty politely.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you’re outside, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you come in a minute?’

‘I’m kind of dirty, very dirty really...’

‘Can you come in...’

‘Why?’

‘I need your help.’

‘Oh! What’s wrong?’ I said, alarmed, brushing dirt off as I hurried to the house.

‘I’m fine!’ he assured me, ‘I just need some help...’

Totally confused, I stopped running and walked, phone still in hand. ‘Where are you?’ I said, not seeing, nor hearing him anywhere when I got inside.

‘Upstairs,’ he said. I hung up and walked up the stairs.

The ladder for the attic was down, ‘Where are you?’ I called noticing a large box in the attic opening.

‘I’m stuck. Do not laugh...’ he said.

I quickly put my hand over my mouth to keep the laugh in. ‘What should I do?’ I asked, as seriously as I could.

‘Come up the stairs and take my shoe off...’ he said.

Now I could see his foot, squished against the opening by the weight of the box. He couldn’t move. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I think I laughed the whole time I got him unstuck!”

“And that’s the attic incident you guys always mention?” twelve-year-old Cara asked her mother, laughing.

“Yes. It essentially means ‘you don’t always know the best way to do something just because you’re ‘the man,’ I use it when we have a conflict, and he doesn’t want to listen to my idea.”

“That’s cool, and it works?”

“Every time so far.”