Just call me grace


I am the klutziest person I know. I can’t blame this on age, because I’ve been this way all my life. Just ask my mom. At 5, I insisted on standing behind my brother who was up to bat. Swing, whack, smack. She’s down for the count. Stiches #1. The I stepped on a rusty tent post stake after my dad told me to put some shoes on. I ignored him. Stitches #2. 

In fifth grade, I dived into the quarry with my glasses on. Oops. Lucky for me my parents had a good sense of humor. In fact, I got a new pair of glasses about three years in a row thanks to playing artillery during lunch hour at Beaverdam.

In high school, while living in Florida, I was a member of a large touring choir. We were preparing to take off on a bus tour. I decided to take a running jump through the (open) emergency door at the back of the bus. It was a good example of why I was not a hurdler. I landed on the floor of the bus, but had nasty bruises on each shin for a long time.

About 15 years ago, we had not yet repaired our badly rotting front porch. I stepped on the wrong board, and my leg went right through. The girls had to call their dad to come home and pull me out. I’m sure anyone driving by would have though it kind of strange to see a woman’s upper body sticking out of the porch. Needless to say, the porch was quickly repaired. My leg wasn’t so quick to recover. No break but a bad bruise on the thigh.

A couple of weeks ago, I was — as usual — carrying too much at once. My foot hit a bamboo rug that was in the wrong place and my legs slid one way. I pitched forward and smacked my chin on a side table. Thought for sure it was broken. Fred thought I was knocked out. Maybe that would have been better. As it was, I felt it for about two weeks.

A few weeks ago, we moved our bed. So…last night in my return from a bathroom run, I forgot the bed move. Went to lie down on my side of the bed but the bed wasn’t there. Somehow I hit the side of the bed, flipped over and smacked my shoulder on the wall. Yes, that shoulder. Lucky for me, the docs say I can’t make it any worse. That sent me into a sobbing jag for about 15 minutes. Poor Fred couldn’t calm me down.

Like I say, I’m a klutz. Always have been and probably always will be.  My parents missed their chance to prevent some of this — should have named me Grace.

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3 responses to “Just call me grace

  1. James Pannabecker

    Good stories, Mary, especially the last one. Karen’s mom said once after they moved their bed, she got up to go to the bathroom, went through where the familiar door had been, and found herself in the closet. She said she stood there laughing.

    You remind me of about 16 years ago. I twisted my ankle repeatedly until it ended up hurting for a year and a half. Finally I twisted it again, a good one, electrical lightning impulses flashing across my brain. It hasn’t hurt since.

  2. Pannabecker Steiner Mary

    I figure if I hurt the right shoulder, it doesn’t matter. Can’t get worse except falls like that make it hurt more for a few weeks, then it kind of subsides and I can deal with it. More or less.
    I loved the story about Karen’s mom. Once I got in a car and realized it wasn’t mine. Now whenever I go to my car I look through the windows to be sure it’s the right one.

  3. I, too, am klutzy. I am the klutziest person known to any of my family, except perhaps grown son who inherited this from me. Grown Daughter seems to have missed that gene. Both of my kids are mid 20s too.

    Its not age. I think it has to do with focusing on where I am going or the end result instead of where I am and what my body is doing right now. I have eye only for the prize and fall over everything else in my path. I am in too much of a hurry. It can also be blamed, in part, on mulit-multi tasking overload – trying to do too many things at one time.

    I have a continuous stream of injury stories from childhood and adulthood, so I know its not an age thing. Its just me. Hubby thinks it cute, some of the time – not always…

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