Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Thursday, March 19, 2015

My Crutch(es)

Gramma and Grampa Berg
It was a magical time. 
Gramma Berg was staying over. 
For days and days. 
And she could always be counted on for a snuggle, or a story, or a song, or a treat.
In that order.
Gramma moved slowly. The result of having a shattered kneecap. I only knew that she couldn't get away from me.
Oh, and that she had crutches.
I loved those crutches. It didn't occur to my four-year-old intellect that they were a necessary part of Gramma’s mobility. I saw only that they were just right for me. 
I would put the little bar (intended as a hand hold) under my arms and, with the top half of each crutch weaving far over my head, hop from one end of the house to the other. Then back. Then back again.
All day.
Sometimes I would mix it up a little and hold up the left leg instead of the right. Either was exciting. 
And daring.
Okay, I was four. My life to date hadn't been filled with momentous events. 
But I digress . . .
There was one problem with my fascination for Gramma’s crutches. She needed them. And I usually had them.
Somewhere else.
Something had to be done.
My Dad, always excited at the prospect of a new engineering task, saw an opportunity. He would make new crutches. My size. Happily, he spent many hours in the blacksmith shop, designing, measuring, cutting. Crafting. Finally, voila! Crutches. Perfect four-year-old size. 
Excited, he brought them to the house. 
Unfortunately, it was nap time and I was blotto on the couch.
Not one to let such a minor thing as a sleeping child thwart him, Dad stood me up and thrust the crutches under my arms.
I can picture it now. Small, skinny, white-haired child – literally - asleep on her feet. Head lolling to one side. A tiny snore. (Okay, my imagination’s good. I admit it.) Her dad holds her up with one hand while trying to brace the crutches under her arms with the other. For this story, a Dad with three hands would probably be advisable. She folds like cooked spaghetti. He tries again. Same result. Finally, defeated, he lays her back on the couch and braces the crutches against it for her to find when she is a bit more . . . conscious.
Which she does.

From then on, my crutches and me were inseparable. They were even tied behind when I went riding. I almost forgot how to walk. Strangers to the ranch would shake their heads sadly at the little crippled child making her way across the barnyard. Then nod and acknowledge that she sure had learned how to move quickly, poor little mite. I felt guilty for the deception. 
Well, a little. 
A real little.
Okay, not at all.
I certainly learned to manoeuvre those little crutches. The only thing I never mastered was walking while lifting both feet at the same time. And, believe me, I tried.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch house, Gramma was delighted to have her crutches back. She could get around once more. She could be portable, helpful, useful. All the qualities she found so satisfying. 
She could even challenge me to a race.
I won.
Me. Age four. With some friends.

15 comments:

  1. This story gets funnier every time you tell it! XD

    ReplyDelete
  2. What a gorgeous team. Hmmm...kids not bad either.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Kids love the weirdest things, don't they? I would have loved a set of crutches, too; now, why is that?! Your dad was smart to make you your very own set!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Haha, I wish I'd been as adept as you when I broke my ankle a few years back! For some reason, the trick to using crutches just kept eluding me. Eventually I figured it out, but I never got to the point of liking them.

    ReplyDelete
  5. What a little bugger you were! :-) (love the pic!)

    Peggy

    ReplyDelete
  6. Intriguing isn't it? The things little kids find exciting. For me it was best friend Cheryl's plastic sandals. I always had leather shoes and each day at school, we'd swap footwear until it came home time.

    ReplyDelete
  7. What a great story! My brother had a broken leg once when I was little and I would steal his crutches and do the same thing until...I feel of the porch with them and broke my ankle! I had to use crutches for 6 weeks and I quickly fell out of love with them!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah. I can see how the gloss would soon wear off! :)

      Delete
  8. Noooooo! OMG this is such a hoot. Do you still have them?

    ReplyDelete

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