Things my father does for his grandson...

Yesterday, after hearing a few ominous grunts and screams from the basement, I went downstairs to find my father lying sprawled across the floor, his cane and slippers scattered across Toby’s playroom, while Toby stood at his side looking anxiously at the cupboard.

For a man who takes a full 5 minutes to lower himself into a sitting position in his armchair, the possibility of it being an intentional descent into this face down position seemed ludicrous. The last time I saw him lying on the floor, it was just after he’d fallen out of bed and fractured his clavicle.

I panicked.

After I realized that he was both moving AND breathing, I heaved a sigh of relief and exclaimed,

“Dad, what are you DOING on the FLOOR???”

The answer was logical (to my father.) Toby had been playing “hockey” and his ball had rolled under the cupboard and he had asked my father to get it for him. (That was the screaming part.) And my dad, ever falling under the spell of his first grandson, obliged (I assume that was the grunting part) while Toby, the agile-acrobatic-two-year-old watched over his shoulder and coached him on.

Pushing a few of my fathers limbs out of the way, I managed to sweep down and rescue the ball and gave Toby a little talking to about getting things himself and not imposing on his poor crippled octogenarian grandpa. And then I realized the much larger and somewhat tougher problem that still lay there; cane and legs sprawled, on the floor of Toby’s playroom.

“Dad….how are we going to get you up?”

It took 10 minutes, a bar stool, the cane, my mother, Toby’s chalkboard easel and lots of encouragement, but eventually we had my dad standing on his two feet again.

As he dusted himself off he smiled at his accomplishment he said victoriously,

“Come on, Toby! Lets play hockey!”