How I Broke My Butt

Now that the title has caught your attention, I will proceed to ramble. If my blog died in back June as I indicated, its soul was eradicated in July and August. It took me getting back to writing with my students to resurrect its meager existence. And I could go on about my intentions, but we all know where those lead. I did scratch out several pages of notes, including the tale that follows, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever lapse has occurred, I am back now.

On the third of July, my wife fielded a phone call from Zac’s teacher from fifth grade: Mrs. H. She lived not too far away from us, and we were fairly well acquainted with their family. She invited us to bring the kids over to play on the zip line they had rigged up in their back yard. My kids, loving Mrs. H and not really knowing what a zip line was were all about going. I, knowing their tolerance for heights, was a bit reluctant. However, my wife had some meeting to attend, and I was delegated as official chaperon on this field trip.

I had been to the house before, but never in the back yard. The lawn was neatly trimmed, the flower beds immaculately pruned, the garden growing tidily in the corner. On the north side a small tree house platform sat at about ten or twelve feet from the ground, a wooden railing around it. From it ran a steel cable zip line all the way to the south fence. Connected to the cable on a wheel was a T-shaped metal seat for someone to sit on as they zipped down. At first glance, I thought “No way. There is no way I could ride that thing. The kids can have fun, but it won’t hold my weight. No way.”

As if she read my mind, Mrs. H said, “Don’t worry. It’s safe.”

I raised a doubtful eye brow.

“Lots of guys your size and bigger have ridden it,” she continued.

“We’ll see,” I said, but I still had my doubts.

Zac took to it with ease, and pretty soon he was zipping down and scrambling back up the tree for another go. His sisters got a little jealous, but they were still too afraid to try. Even Sam, who usually tries everything at least once, had lost his nerve.

Mrs. H and I tried to convince them to try but were met with resolute refusals.

Somewhere in the conversation, one of the girls said they would do it if I did it.

Gulp.

So when the seat was close to the ground, I tested out the strength of the rig by pulling down on it. Hard. It held.

So I walked it back up the line a few feet and pulled again adding more of my body weight. It still held.

So I walked it farther. Tested. Again, it held.

Feeling somewhat confident in the durability of the equipment, I finally decided to sit on the bar with my feet still on the ground. Surprisingly, it remained steady.

Then I pushed off, fully sitting on the seat, to a height of about four feet. The bolt snapped. And I fell like an anvil in a road runner cartoon straight on my backside, which was planted on the metal bar.

As soon as I hit, I rolled onto my stomach, trying to assess the damage. My first thoughts were “Holy crap! I broke my butt.” I knew that was ridiculous—a memory of Josh W. “breaking his butt” sliding into home plate at baseball practice back when I was a sophomore replayed in my mind. He was trying to take the extra base on a play to the outfield when the relay throw hit him square between the cheeks. I chuckled to myself (because it was better than crying in front of the kids), but even that hurt.

Eventually, I was able to stand and start moving again. Mrs. H profusely apologized (and still does every time I see her). The next day was the Fourth, and we held too our family traditions: Freedom Festival parade in Provo, followed by lunch at the Brick Oven, then to a BBQ at my parents’. This year we had tickets to go to the Stadium of Fire concert with Carrie Underwood and other guests. Now, for those who don’t know me too well, I don’t really like country music, but all the sitting I had to do, especially on the hard, metal bleachers, made it unbearable. Needless to say, my tailbone ached for the whole month of July.

It’s only been a week or so ago that I was actually able to take my stairs two at a time without excruciating pain. Yesterday, I finally went back to the back yard where I busted my posterior to face my demons. (Not really. Mrs. H wanted Zac to help her with the ALS ice bucket challenge. Do you know how excited he was to dump a bucket of ice water on his teacher?) Mr. H made a point to show me how he had placed an even larger bolt on the zip line to replace to the one I snapped in two (clean break). And now we all laugh about it. Even though I didn't seriously jack up my spine, or even my tailbone, I still have miles to go when it comes to listening to my instincts, and not giving in to pretty girls, especially if the princesses are adorable seven or nine years old missing a few teeth.