So yesterday, I took you on a trip up a ladder onto the roof of an old log cabin with a twelve year old me. My father and my eleven year old brother and I were tearing the shingles off the roof as the beginning of deconstructing the log cabin in order to move it.
And in true ADHD fashion, I found myself accidentally riding an old wooden door down the roof and preparing to plummet to certain death.
And in the few seconds I had left to me, did I make my peace with the world? Did I pray? Did I hope my mother would forgive me for making a mess of my corpse when I crashed?
I did not!
My first thought was one of mild panic. Mild, because there was no time for me to panic wildly, I had other things to think about.
My second thought was to consider whether I could get off the door and stay on the roof? Nope, already moving too fast. But I continued to think about variations on that theme along with a multitude of other things.
And what were those things?
I thought that this was a funny way to die. And then I thought that I was damned if I was going to miss the chance to ride that door like a surf board. And then I thought it was probably going to be a bit rough, landing on all those shingles and nails down below. And then I thought …
I thought that maybe if I crouched down and held on to the old door handle, I could keep the door between me and the mess. At least they wouldn’t have to pick nails and splinters out of the body for the funeral.
And then it hit me …
This was the experiment I had never set up because it would end badly. I told you all about that experiment yesterday.
If you haven’t read that yet, it’s here, go read about it and we’ll continue on. You’ll catch up, don’t worry. It’s a short read.
Oh, back already
Well, come on then, we’ll finish it all together. Now where were we?
Oh, right, on the edge of the roof, moving quickly, and about to plummet a story and a half into a pile of shattered cedar shingles and old, rusty nails.
And then? And then???
Yeah, I managed to keep the door under me, I’m not sure how. I guess I had enough momentum that we shot out rather than the door tipping down and me being dumped off.
And then we fell. And at the very last possible moment, I sprang up off of that door like I was trying to jump back onto the roof.
Did it work?
You know what? I swore that it did. I’m not sure now if that was the case, I think if the door had been heavier it would have been more effective, but I swear that I arrested my fall somewhat by transferring my momentum to the door.
And, I was uninjured.
And I remain so …
In fact, with the exception of a small hole in the bone of my elbow that I can’t account for and that didn’t happen that day, I’ve never had a broken bone.
Maybe twelve-year-olds are indestructible. And maybe I’m still a twelve year old. But maybe the myriad of thoughts that I’ve thought are all filed away using a secret index that is only available to me when I should be panicked.
And maybe not, since ADHDers are more likely to visit the emergency room of their local hospital than other members of the human race.
But me? I’ve flown. And I’ve lived to tell about it. I’ve lived to talk about the flight of ADHD.