Only in the Movies

 Posted by on February 6, 2007  AutoBio, Family, Lefties  Tagged with:
Feb 062007
 

When I was maybe 6 years old, my uncle John (who was 11 at the time) was showing me around my Grandparents’ place, where he lived but not a place that I was yet familiar with. At this stage in the family history I think that my Uncle John (till recently the youngest in the Baker clan) was relishing the fact that there was finally a smaller Baker than him, and another child to play with.

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In his new role as an older and wiser human being, Uncle John showed me how to climb up onto the roof of Pop’s shed. I was a cautious child but somehow, through that powerful combination of encouragement and ridicule that all small boys (and many grown men) use to motivate each-other to do dangerous things, Uncle John made me climb up on the roof with him.

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We pottered about for a minute or two until we either got bored or, more likely, till Uncle John realised that we might cop some heat if older members of the clan spotted us up there, whereupon he nimbly climbed back down. As I watched him descend, it dawned on me that I was now looking down at the ground from a long way up, perhaps the highest vantage point I had ever achieved until that time, and whatever nerve I had used to scale those heights suddenly failed me in the attempt to get back down.

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This time however, Uncle John’s encouragement couldn’t budge me and his harangues only reduced me to tears. When he saw me on the verge of a wholesale hysterical bawling session, Uncle John quickly realised that it was in his own best interests to both calm me down and then get me down, before any grownups spotted tragic little Mr. Trembly-lip up there. It would be obvious to the powers-that-be whose idea the climb had been, and even if this didn’t occur to the inquisition immediately, it was a dead certainty that I would rat him out if I was put to the rack.

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So, after encouraging me not to bawl out loud, Uncle John promised that he knew a way to get me down safely, and ran inside the house. Crouching nervously at the edge of the roof awaiting my rescue, I became steadily convinced that Uncle John had abandoned me.

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After what seemed like forever, he re-appeared from the house and ran back over to the shed, brandishing Grandma’s umbrella. He threw it up to me and suggested that I use it as a parachute, much as Charlie Chaplin or Mary Poppins might do in a film. This struck me as pure genius. We both had complete confidence that this plan would work, I know that I certainly did, anyway.

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It wasn’t the ambitious vision of taking flight that some children succumb to at a similar age. No, it was the much more believable expectation that I would surely fall, but do so with grace. Why, I should be able to step off the roof and glide gently to earth, touching down nimbly on the tips of my toes! With that charming vision clear in my mind, and with the greatest of calm, I stood up, popped the umbrella open and confidently stepped out into space…

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The umbrella promptly turned inside out, and I plummeted to the ground like a child-shaped stone trailing a black ribbon. I believe that some part of my anatomy was sprained upon its high-velocity contact with the ground, and a piercing yowl ensued, quickly followed by a convergence of angry elder Bakers; precisely the sort of ballyhoo that Uncle John was trying to avoid…

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Frankly, that part of the memory is rather a blur to me now, I have no recollection of whether the truth or some artful fabrication was entered into the public record, but the latter would be my guess. All I remember from that point onwards, is the encounter with my old friends; pain and embarrassment, but also something new; the violent disconnect between my absolute faith in what should happen and what actually did happen. This was a brutal lesson in the supremacy of the Laws of Physics over Cartoon Logic for somebody who was to become a cartoonist later in his life.…

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PS: Some people may wonder how it is that my uncle is only a few years older than me and was a childhood playmate. I’m the oldest child of a big family (7 children) but at the time and place that I grew up (rural Australia in the 1970s) big families seemed the norm rather than the exception. It wasn’t until I left my home town and moved to the city to work that I realised that families with less than 4 kids even existed. A feature of huge families is that the oldest child of parents who are themselves oldest children, and started parenting young (as was the case with both my parents) may have an Aunt or Uncle who is only a few years older. I have one of each; my Aunty Mary (only four years older than me) on my Mother’s side, and my Uncle John (five years older than me) on my Father’s side. Because of the minimal age difference between us they often felt like older siblings, and some of my earliest memories of playing with other kids were of playing with my Aunt and Uncle. I took this for granted in my childhood, but have come to learn that it seems hillbilly-esque to people not familiar with the syndrome. So you big city sophisticates can by all means imagine this story playing out with banjos and fiddles on the soundtrack if you must.

  51 Responses to “Only in the Movies”

  1. Yea Jamie it’s a bitch when that cartoon logic fails you! I had a few black eyes from rough landings incured while trying to “Fly” off of picnic tables. Man how does that Wile E. Coyote dude pull it off?!

  2. Wow, another gem from your childhood. GREAT story!

  3. Dan>>I know, Wile E. is a hero to us all…

    John>>I am glad that you got a kick out of it. there will be more to come….

    After I wrote this down I was thinking a little about what the adults must have made of the sight; two children, one of them standing, the other lying on the ground with a twisted ankle, holding a busted umbrella and screaming blue murder… Right under the eaves of a shed roof. I guess you didn’t have to be a CSI guy to figure out what had happened, WHATEVER story we actually told them…

    Heh heh 🙂

  4. Ahh childhood. Reminds me of the time the older cousin’s told me to touch the electrified fence that kept the horses in. They said it would only “tingle” I lifted up my index finger to gently touch….

    Frying pan to the back of the head was what I felt. Next thing I knew I was lying on the ground with all the cousins looking down at me saying, “We didn’t think you would actually touch it!”

  5. ha! awesome story! who doesn’t want to avoid the ‘convergence of angry elder Bakers?’ i’m amazed i’m still alive with all the adventures in learning physics i had as a kid.

  6. I thought the moral of the story would be: “…next time use a more expensive umbrella.” Or: pack your own chute… or something. Never occurred to me the basic concept was flawed. (Whew! Thanks!)

  7. Reads just like a renzoku drama on Japanese tv. Can’t wait for the next episode.

  8. I once read an article in Psychology Today that said that people actually believe that when something falls it first hangs in the air for a second because they had seen it so much in cartoons. Great story, Jamie.

  9. oh dear! i remember trying to jump off the end of the verandah that ran along one side of the house we were living in, using a blanket as a parachute (as i recall it had been because of watching a cartoon).
    at its highest point the verandah was about 6 feet off the ground. it’s surprising the force a 7 year old kid can hit the ground with when his parachute fails to deploy as planned, even over so short a distance! lol

  10. The umbrella jumpers: The few, the proud, the arthritic!

  11. Bless that little Baker boy, he does makes me laugh so.

  12. I laughed out loud! But when I was a kid I thought it would work.

  13. Hi James, I remember that photo being taken. It’s Marg’s room, I remember the solid chest of drawers behind us, and the dressing table with ornaments, assorted girlie treasures, and the swivel mirror. I moved into the room some years later, and spent many hours of confused adolescence, pondering the uncertainties of what life had in store for me. Strewth! I’m still pondering.

  14. Thanks so much for that wonderful memory Jamie, and for the new expression I hope to be able to use someday – hillbilly-esque!

  15. I remember wondering if umbrellas could be parachutes too after seeing Mary Poppins! Good thing you didn’t brake your leg!

  16. A delicious story!

  17. Haha!! What a fantastic story, Jamie! The illustrations pure comedy! Thanks for sharing!

  18. Another great one for the books! My nieces are only 5 and 7 years younger than me. I was *that* aunt!

  19. Loved this. Thanks for sharing.

  20. Wonderful story & illustrations James and I was unaware of such high drama happening in our own back yard! 🙂

  21. Re: Cartoon Logic, didn’t your uncle ever see a Road Runner cartoon? Gravity is an immutable law in those (perhaps only cheated for the instance it takes to recognize its inevitability). However, I can see Mary Poppins exerting a powerful counter argument.

    Another great story, now with great drawings! I love the confidence you demonstrate when stepping off roofs!

  22. That was awesome! Thank you for sharing it.

  23. brilliant!.. thanks for sharing 🙂

  24. I love these paintings!!!

  25. “Mr. Trembly-lip” needs to become a series – (books or animation, either will do)

  26. Another great yarn!

    Your problem wasn’t physics, it was the flying solo part. I did it holding a chicken in each hand. My mistake was ornithological. Had I used two Canadian geese, (or six pigeons)… totally would’ve worked.

  27. Sensational story James and the artwork’s perspective evokes fear itself.

    Even with more wisdom at the age of 8 and armed with a beach umbrella I still could not defy the forces of gravity.
    From this I learned that a. terminal velocity will be reached before the chute has full effect and b. the pilot needs to be heavier than the machine.

  28. My neices and nephew are 8 yrs younger than I. My memories are more of playmates rather than a family construct. I love your stories and illustrations…for me, they are a light of reality that always makes me smile.

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