This story takes place in a setting very much like the one pictured here, but without the little cardboard soldier barricade. Further research into this picture choice reveals that the cardboard soldiers are in place, here, because a little boy's toe was severed in this escalator. This is the ghastly photo accompanying the news bulletin. And here I am, telling my little boys that escalators are nothing to fear. I can totally feel a parent-of-the-year award in my future soon!
Picture this: My boys and I are navigating the bustling foot traffic of a main-floor lobby in a university hospital. We have a certain amount of time to get down to the cafeteria for some lunch before our next obligation. Note: a time-crunch should have been the first indication that something traumatizing was going to happen. These sorts of things typically only happen when there's no time to handle them.
I am not at all concerned (another indication), about getting my sensory-sensative boys on to the escalator, because we've done them before. On our bucket list of quirky and/or bizarre things to accomplish, we conquered and crossed-off escalators a long time ago. And frankly, what's scary about an escalator, right? They're just fancy stairs. Note: admittedly, looking back to my early youth, I can remember worrying that the glowing light and disappearing floor just might grab my shoes and drag me through the shredder-like teeth at the end of the line. But at the time of this story, I wasn't musing on my childhood concerns.
After all, at least you can see where you're going to and coming from, when on an escalator. Personally, I think elevators offer a lot more in the way of nerve-inducing terrors--stepping into a little window-less box suspended by a string, closing the door, hurdling straight up, and landing who-knows-where.
Any-hoo, I figure my guys might need just a bit of help getting on, so as we step into the escalator line, I position the little one in front of me and the bigger one in back. By holding one hand apiece, I think I can help them both on with me. But as the threshold looms, both boys suddenly realize where we're headed and simultaneously begin their famous panic routine. As they move, flawlessly, through the first movement of the piece, my stomach sinks. But after a very brief, and uninformed, pow-wow with myself, I decide I can muscle them on and all will be well (yes, I can be that naive). So I pick up the hyperventilating 4-year-old and plunk him down on to the step in front of mine. I attempt to pull the 7-year-old on behind me, but encounter resistance.
I turn to access the situation behind me, and in a move that can only be executed by the best of professionals, my 7-year-old slips his hand from mine and locks his grappling-hook fingers into the space between glass panels. By now his squalling has reached pitches and a volume that must surely be at the limit of human capability. And, as this is not my first rodeo, I'm unconcerned, and only vaguely aware of the molten stares from the dozens of over-worked, under-paid CNA's, clerks, and stressed-out patient family members all around us, who are only trying desperately to get some nourishment on their all-too-short lunch breaks. What are ya gonna do?
So in a last ditch effort to 'keep swinging as I go down for the count,' I grab whatever clothing I can and hang on for dear life. I grapevine up a few stairs before I realize the younger screaming kid is rapidly descending and will need some assistance at the bottom. So I stop grapevining, yank desperately on the older screaming kid's ankle, suspending him laterally--Superman style--until his shoe pops off in my hand.
I reach down and pick up the younger screaming kid, who suddenly goes crazy ape all over me, in an attempt to get to his brother, meanwhile the older screaming kid scrambles back up to the top of the escalator and begins his best forsaken-orphan routine. As I float away down the stairs, manic child in one hand, size 12 sneaker in the other, he stretches out his arms and yells, "Mom, no!!! Don't leave me! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Mom! NOOOOOO!!!!" or some such. I desperately try to reassure him that this is not our final parting, and I will come back for him.
I'm certain you would have thought we looked every bit as romanic and tragic as Nicole Kidman and that sweet little boy in Australia.
Well, due to our amazing floor show, the line up for the opposite escalator is every bit as paused as the line behind the forsaken orphan, so the manic child, the sneaker, and I all cross over to the ascending escalator and get on immediately. (So fun to jump to the front of the line every once in a while.) Soon enough, we move into the fabulous reunion scene, and I pull both kids aside, so that traffic can resume unhindered. Note: we put on a heck of a show, and that stingy crowd didn't give us an ounce of applause! Can you believe it? I sincerely hope that will be the last time we ever perform at that venue!
It is at this point that some well-meaning, and timely, woman comes up and says, "Can I help? Here, let me put his shoe back on for you." So the 4-year-old and I sit there and watch as the 7-year-old is shorn. Happily, it didn't take long for the boys to recover and work through the mechanics of riding an escalator. We were able to get lunch and returned to the site for several more successful escalator experiences that day. These boys really are champions in my mind.
Lest you think this story is all done, let me brief you on the finale of this escapade. Late into the evening, when all was still and quiet, I approached the escalators, once more. My mom and I were en route to the exit and parking garage. We shared a laugh as I told her all about our funny little adventure (don't worry, the boys had already left for the day). She, thinking it would be hilarious to throw a mock fit of her own, stood at the threshold, called out something silly, and flung her arms into the air.
Apparently she didn't have a firm grasp on her keys, because they launched into the air and came down, directly onto the book of the studying student on the floor below. They made an impressive sound, even from our vantage point, and I'm very nearly sure that poor student needed a change of clothing after that. Unlike me, Mom hasn't had so much experience with this sort of thing and was
quite embarrassed. ;)
Oh, what a day. At least it makes a good post, right?
