“Come To Jesus, Chuckie. Just One More Stair, And You’re There”
By: Charles H. Roast
Tags: Pain, Satire, Humor, Advice, Age

It can happen in an instant. No warning lights or sirens to alert you to the danger ahead. No signs telling you “Do Not Enter.” Just Jesus, kneeling at the bottom, arms open wide like a father coaxing his ten month old to take his first steps.

Nope. One minute all is fine, the next you’re tumbling ass over manicured toenails down the stairs while your kid is laughing his head off, thinking you are fooling around.

Again, nope. At my age, purposely falling down a flight of stairs is just as bad as accidentally falling down the stairs. Of course, hysterically laughing out of fear and pain and ridiculousness as you loose your equilibrium while the house tumbles past you is just the recipe a fifteen year old young man needs to trigger his “laugh at the absurd” gene. Or should I say “laugh at the old man” gene.

Because, whether we like it or not, our male offspring are constantly looking for ways to “take over our tundra” and “hunting grounds.” It may not be on purpose, but it still genetically exists in our lizard brains.

I see it now with my fifteen year old, and I saw it with my twenty four year old. It’s that, “Dad. Really? That’s not gonna fit up the stairs. We have to take it apart.” Meanwhile, I have become the teenager. “Whatsamatta? You afraid of a little work? C’mom, pick up the heavy end, you go backwards, and follow my ‘lead’ (i.e., directions) up the stairs, around three curves and two landings and, oh, by the way, don’t scratch the walls it’s a rental” thing.

When did they become the practical ones and when did my lizard brain redevelop? Why am I now the one who wants to take the risks, and them the ones who want to map it out?

I think it happened overnight while I was sleeping. I pulled up my weighted blanket and strained my shoulder. Hey! Those things are freaking heavy, man! Like, twenty-five pounds. My new little girlfriend (5'4" and 115 lbs) can’t even sleep under it because it crushes her (yep, had to throw that in there. . .heh, heh, heh).

Then I woke up and said, “That’s bullshit!” I refuse to allow a damn blanket to hurt me. So, instead, I decided to throw myself down the stairs. . .to prove a point. . .it didn’t work.

Naw, I’m just kidding. I really fell. No, I wish I was drunk. It wouldn’t have hurt so much. Nope, wasn’t carrying something heavy. Sigh, no, there was nothing in the way. And, yes, I am pretty sure. . .almost sure. . .my fifteen year-old didn’t push me.

You know, speaking of being a great athlete like I used to be. . .if this had happened thirty years ago, I would have completed a double backflip with a full twist, landed on my hands and done a round-off and landed on the three square foot landing.

I know. . .it wasn’t thirty years ago, and the double back flip with a full-twist was on accident. And the landing on the hands? Missed the hands and landed on my head. . .ouch.

That was three days ago. I still can’t lift my right arm over my shoulder. You know how hard it is to wipe your butt with your weak arm instead of your dominant one? I have never wished so hard to be ambidextrous (well, there was that one time with the twin cheerleaders. . .)

Oh! And try standing up with your one good leg asleep after sitting on the toilet for twenty minutes trying to figure out how to wipe your ass with your non-dominant hand without calling in the fifteen year-old for help and forever traumatizing him. . .

What’s my point? I dunno. I fell. It hurt. Physically, mentally, and pride-ically. It still hurts. And my hysterical laughter? That was to avoid crying.

Meanwhile, before I even stopped rolling down the stairs, my fifteen year-old was leaping over my falling body and skiing down the stairs like that guy in the video outrunning the avalanche.

He was at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me with a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol in the other, all while balancing an ice pack on the tip of his left foot while standing on the railing on the toes of his right foot.

Thirty years ago I could have. . .never mind.