It was just the type of thing an active grandpa does: walks across some rocks on the Gooseberry River with his grandson. The river was sparse so it was lots of rocks and very little water. Did I say lots of rocks? All shapes and sizes, though not many big ones. The boy had gotten dirt and mud in his Crocs so he said he was fine barefoot. I figured we’d see.
I could tell he was struggling a bit, but he was toughing it out; his six-year-old pride was stronger than his capacity to wear grimy shoes. I had on the twelve-pound “all the kids’ stuff” backpack, not heavy but an element of awkward when rock balancing.
We were doing fine enough when he came back toward me after encountering a lack of good rock options and then he lost his balance. I was balanced on two slanted, narrow rocks myself at that exact moment. He grabbed the front of my shirt. I lost my balance. He felt himself falling backwards. He pulled more decisively. Then, thirteen different factors came into my head in the two seconds it took before we were both down on top of multiple sized and shaped rocks.
I didn’t crush him (part of the elaborate two-second plan). He didn’t land hard (also part of the plan). I ended up on two mostly-extended arms and one foot (also in the plan), and on one knee, on the ridge-edge of a rock (NOT in the plan).
The result was the boy on his back, on the rocks, and me on top of him, though with no weight on him, supported on my hands and a foot and a knee that I fell onto.
The boy was OK. My knee really hurt. At first I thought it had split open. It hadn’t, but it almost looked as if I had a bloody scar; I must have been a half-pound of pressure short of a split. I got up, shook it off, and we continued on. The boy continued barefoot.
We got close to the other side, hung out on a small rock plateau for a bit, then headed back. Half way back, with the boy hobbling barefoot, I swung the backpack around to my front and loaded the barefoot boy onto my back. I piggy-backed him the rest of the way, walking and balancing on the rocks. Grandma wasn’t happy. She suggested I should have come back and gotten his shoes for him. Yeah.
Overall, the fall was probably a pretty remarkable recovery in action. I saw it as a failure. Why? Well, first, I fell! Second, I sustained an injury, though thankfully nothing of note lingers two days later. Still, it could have been worse, both for me and the boy.
They say that getting up off the floor is a fundamental ability for anyone, never mind being able to do it as one ages. Getting down onto the floor with some degree of control is a corollary. Getting down onto the floor is step one. Falling and not getting hurt is step . . . eight? Falling on top of a grandkid and not hurting them, step twenty one, maybe. Piggy-backing them across the river rocks: maybe that’s the rocks in the head. But we made it!
Whatever it was I did, it started as being able to get down onto the floor, and then getting up from the floor. When you can’t do those two actions, things are going downhill. You might not be walking across rocks, but you can more readily enjoy life, and grandkids if you can handle your body enough to get down and get up.
If getting down and up from floor are challenging, there is lots of guidance online for how to do those things properly (here’s one) and on how to work toward them if they are a challenge (see here).
Yes, walking on pointy rocks and falling without injury are lots of steps past that, but I’ve been doing all kinds of getting up and down off of the floor for more than three decades now. Still, that mishap has me thinking about what else I could work on that would have let me fall with more control, more grace. Or not fall at all. Core strength? Balance? Whole body coordination? I have some ideas to explore.
As it happens, grandpas and grandsons get back on the horse after they get thrown off. He and I had fun the next day back along Duluth’s Lakewalk on the shore of Lake Superior. He did his version of Lakewalk parkour while I followed along as his videographer.
Whether you’re up to hopping along on some rocks or simply getting down onto the floor, keep at it. You never know when a grandkid might require it of you.
Stay in the game.
Grandpa Mode 