My Ten Favorite Falls

I can’t believe there were at least ten memorable falls in my life…

My first fall, that I can remember, was in Maine. You know what they say: You never forget the first fall you can remember. We had stairs with either no railing or a railing a five year old could outsmart. I looked down at the floor and then it happened: I stayed exactly where I was while the floor, house, Maine and the rest of the universe rushed up to meet me. After a good cry, I swore that the universe and I would forever be enemies. If I’d known the disparity between my size and that of the universe, I might’ve just let the whole thing slide…

I don’t know if this is universal, but my oldest assures me that he also experienced it: While on a walk, I had somehow climbed on top of a twelve foot water supply pipe. My family had found a way to crawl under and were waiting on the other side. When I slid off the top of the pipe, an uncomfortable interval later, I had the thought, “Gee, I should’ve landed by now… I hope nothing has gone wrong” and it seemed my spirit had left my body and was dispassionately watching from outside; however, my spirit managed to find its way back just before I slammed into the ground. I still feel like most of my organs are a half inch lower than they should be.

At graduation rehearsal, we were to just walk up the stairs, onto the stage, take a blank sheet of paper from the principal and then to walk down the stairs on the other side. I was the epitome of coolness, taking the stairs like a champ, receiving the blank paper and finger-gunning the principal… then, I fell down the stairs in front of the entire graduating class. I learned a valuable lesson: When the class clown falls down the stairs, no one runs to help him. No one wants to look as if they didn’t “get it”…

I fell onto Highway One while trying to run across six lanes before the light changed. My ex and I were going to a restaurant across the road. My wife saw me fall and started sobbing as if I were already dead and made no move to pull me onto the median with her. That should’ve been a red flag… like when she called my life insurance her “retirement plan”. I managed to crawl off the asphalt and we made it to the other side and the restaurant. I know that when you survive a life-threatening event, the air smells better and the food tastes better but since the restaurant was Western Sizzler, THAT wasn’t going to happen…

On election day, I was voting at a nearby elementary school. Scattered throughout the polling area was that impossibly cute furniture that really young children use. I went to sit in one of the tiny chairs because my ancestors were marched from Ohio to Oklahoma and we need to rest for at least five generations. But, as I squatted deeper and deeper, buttocks feeling no small chair, I gave in to gravity and went down like a champ. I don’t know which was more embarrassing: The fall or the reason for it…

Back when I lived in Dallas with my wife, we were watching something on television that inspired me to ask her, “Do you think I can still do a jumping spinning back kick?”. Despite the fact that there should’ve been only two valid responses, she provided, “I don’t care”. So, I banished her from the discussion and carried it on myself until I’d convinced myself to try. I jumped, spun, kicked the wall, came down on the side of my foot and sprained my ankle. Why? Because, at twenty-two, I still had a few stupid stunts left in me; moreover, six months into my marriage was not the time to show weakness.

Ever get on the hood of your brother’s car and refuse to get off until he starts the car and drives very fast in tight circles, throwing up gravel all around? Yeah, me too. The third time around, I flew off the hood and rolled to safety like a 70s television detective. Others may see a dumb redneck being thrown off his brother’s Pontiac; but, I looked so cool, I was the embodiment of a Quinn/Martin production. To people who understand that reference, happy belated sixtieth birthday!

McPherson Square, downtown D. C. At the top of the escalator, I sprained my ankle and fell to my back on the sidewalk. I realized as other commuters stepped over and around me that I was just one empty Styrofoam cup away from panhandling…

During a six hour thrash metal show, I sat at the bar, keeping half an eye on my oldest, who was slamming into another human in the mosh pit. I’d had my leg wrapped around the leg of the stool for about three hours… so, when I tried to stand, I went down to the floor. Surprisingly, several of the metalheads helped me up, called me “sir” and asked if I was okay. Very disorienting! I was hoping for a room full of dead-eyed violent rage-addicts and instead was given a group of Mormon Boy Scouts who also liked loud music. Before you ask, the answer is, “Yes, I’ve been in a mosh pit”…

Finally. I was catching a commuter bus at the Pentagon Metro. The Pentagon had a mall inside, at the time, and the public was permitted. I needed to change a twenty dollar bill for the bus… so, I indulged on an expensive cigar. As the bus took us to Springfield, the weather turned icy. I slipped a few times after leaving the bus but I was more concerned with lighting my cigar. I found a spot out of the wind and lit it up. Just after the first puff, my feet, in a rare proactive move, slipped forward and I landed squarely on my back. I got up, tried to take a puff and saw that the cigar was fanned out like a door-slammed-into-Danny-Thomas scene from Make Room for Daddy. To people who understand that reference, happy belated sixtieth birthday, again!