Charla and I recently returned from visiting her family in Kentucky. I thoroughly enjoyed the southern hospitality and cooking. I enjoyed canned pork, biscuits and gravy. And my favorite, was locally produced molasses. The process to produce molasses is similar to that of producing maple syrup. A gracious and warm shout out to all our Kentucky friends. We love you. During the trip to Kentucky, Charla pointed out the house she grew up in. It is somewhat like the small ranch house I grew up in. In comparing notes, I was reminded of a time that I decided to take a break from my family.
It was one summer morning, where I was less than happy with some required chores around the house, and I decided it was time to stand up to the perceived injustices as only an 11-year-old could experience in 1974. I remember making the statement that I was going to run away. The amount of time from my statement, to when I had offers to help me pack, was much too quick and the wind in my sails was deflated quicker than a hunting dog in the arctic.
Stomping to my room, I started planning on how I could still win the power struggle that I found myself in with the rulers of my world. What could I do that would worry and impress my oppressors? I could disappear from my room. That was it. I would still run away, but I would do it in a way that would look like I disappeared. Everyone has seen me stomp to my room. I wish I could see the look on the faces of the wardens when they came to my room and I was nowhere to be found.
One of the windows to my room faced away from any activity where people would be going in and out of the house. This was the window I chose to disappear from. The window was about 10-12 feet off the ground which I was sure I could maneuver gracefully. I had managed to fall from higher places in my young life and still walk away, albeit sometimes with a limp and other bruises. This window had two vertical sliding components. The type of windows you could push up the bottom half or pull down the top half. Then we had the outside storm window. The storm window did provide a bit of a barrier to the Northern Vermont winters when the wind was blowing and the outside temperature approach -40 degrees below zero.
My plan was to go out the window and close each component behind me. I would need to pull down the bottom portion of the main window and then hang on with one of my legs while I pulled the storm window down. When I dropped to the ground from there, the storm window would close and voila! I would have disappeared without a trace.
Now to execute on the plan. I opened both bottom portions of the window. I was able to easly lift my left leg and get it out of the window. Carefully, I bent at the waist and was able to get my head through the main opening and shifted my weight so my left leg and torso were mostly out the window. I looked down, and I was a little perplexed as to why the distance to the ground looked much higher than I expected. My pride (sorry Lord), got in the way of any logical thinking and I continued forward. As I leaned out further, I was able to hook the heel of my right leg to the bottom corner of the storm window frame. This plan was coming together as I smiled. I was a young Houdini in the making. The fame I would have after this would be something movies, or at least blogs would be made of.
While my right leg was still hooked on the storm window frame, I was able to pull down the inside window most of the way. I couldn’t get it totally closed, but close enough that someone from the inside wouldn’t suspect I had gone out of it. Almost there. I shifted my weight such that I was pushing against the wall to the ground with my left leg now. This provided a little stability as I reached in between the windows with both hands and pulled on the latches on each side. I carefully lowered the storm window. I was so close, I started planning on where I was going to go once I reached the ground. And then it happened. My right leg that was hooked on the storm window slipped a little and when it did, I braced myself and let go of the storm window.
The window came down and the latches on both ends snapped into place about three and a half inches from totally closing (1st Latch Point). As it happens, my ankle is about four and a quarter inches at its widest point (outside ankle bone to inside ankle bone) and the widest point was still on the other side of the storm window. And since the heel of my right foot was hooked on the corner of the storm window frame, it was in the way of any possibility of trying to unlatch that side of the window.
My left leg was beginning to cramp, my right leg was very tired from holding my full body weight and my mind was quickly running through any potential options of getting out of this with any amount of dignity. One final slip and I was hanging upside down by one ankle from the window. My head was shouting to abandon the plan which I agreed with in short order.
As my head started pounding from hanging upside down, I stopped thinking of dignity and started thinking of survival. I wondered how long I could be here before someone found me. Would they see my foot in the window if they went looking for me? Or would the inside window block any site of me? It was at this time, I started yelling for help. However, given that I had gone out the window facing away from any area someone would likely come through, and given the fact I had closed the door to my bedroom, and given the fact that the inside window was all but closed, evidently people inside the house were not able to hear me.
I believe it was my sister “M” who came out of the house and hollered “Larry”! I whimpered back, “I’m here.” She came around the corner of the house and hollered again. She jumped back when I started half crying and half talking above her. I heard her run towards the house yelling “I found him,” in a tone that seemed much too matter of fact. Evidently, it took a while for my sister “M” to communicate my direness, or lack thereof to my parents. My father went to my room and my mother came outside.
My memory fades a little as to what happened with the rest of this story. I’m here today, so I must have survived the rescue mission. I did not try to run away again. There is only so much run-away humiliation I could manage over a lifetime to ever chance that again. This topic does come up periodically at family gatherings when a niece or nephew that hasn’t heard the story is in the house.
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