Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

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



Tuesday, November 20, 2018

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 handhold) 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. 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 I 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.

10 comments:

  1. Your dad was an amazing guy. And I bet you had the best sense of balance in town!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hmmm...you may have a point. That must be why I was the reigning neighbourhood champion clothesline trapeze artiste! ;)

      Delete
  2. Perfect gift. For you and for your gramma.
    However, my insomniac self is even more jealous of your sleeping abilities...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I can only think back on those days with complete and utter awe. To sleeeep . . . Sigh.

      Delete
  3. I can see it all so clearly :)

    Your dad was a busy man; I don't know how he found the time to do everything!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Diane, Your family must love these stories so much, almost as much as your readers! What a wonderful gift for future generations.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You're so kind, Laurie! I keep thinking: If I remember them, EVERYONE has to remember them! :)

      Delete
  5. That's such an adorable story. I tried walking with crutches when I twisted my ankle and it's hard.

    ReplyDelete

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