Walking Tall

This is a story about my brother Ed.  He was the third child in our family, and was born while we were living in Lando Mines.

When he was born, Ingrid was a little more than two, and I was about 15 months old.  Ingrid and I both learned to walk when we were nine months old....long before our brains were ready for such a risky skill.  I'm sure we kept our mom constantly busy trying to keep an eye on us, and keep us out of danger.

Ed was different.  He was quieter, and more patient than either of us.  His curious eyes often just studied those around him, and you could tell he was thinking deep thoughts and reflecting on life - even at a very early age.  He was different too in that he wasn't walking yet when he hit nine months old.  That was no big deal, but when he still wasn't walking at 12 months, mom became a little concerned.  But not enough worried yet to seek out help.

He continued to show little interest in walking, and as he approached 18 months without a step, mom got increasingly worried.  She finally took him into the doctor to find out what was wrong with him.  The doctor talked to mom, and about what she did at home.  With two small kids already running all over, she said that she spent the day chasing after us and doing her chores.  When the doctor asked what she did with Ed, she said she carried him everywhere on her hip.

Well....the doctor said...how do you expect him to learn to walk when he's almost never on the floor where he can learn?  Mom admitted that maybe she was contributing to his delayed development, and committed to putting him down a lot more.  So she did.  The only problem was that since Ed was used to getting carried everywhere, he got bored and started fussing and crying to be picked up again.  Mom was inventive if nothing else and so she wracked her brain to find a way to keep Ed both on the floor, out of trouble, and happy too.

Her solution was actually kind of crazy, especially considering that Ed was just a baby.  Somehow mom stumbled across the best distraction she could invent for Ed.  She'd put him down on the front porch, start a nail into the floor boards, and then give Ed the hammer.  Small as he was, he was still strong and coordinated for his age.   With the nail sticking up between his splayed legs, he'd stare hard at the nail, then slowly and methodically lift the hammer and "bang!" drive it a little further into the floor.  It would take him forever, but eventually he'd drive the nail completely flush with the boards.  Then he'd look around to see who had witnessed his triumph and start fussing for another fresh nail to pound on. I remember dad saying that some day Ed would work in construction.

He did this day after day, week after week, and soon that area of the porch was carpeted by shiny nail heads.  Remember that we lived in cheap, rental house and so there wasn't much you could do to damage it.  So, Ed enjoyed himself very much.  Maybe too much, because he was perfectly happy to sit there for hours pounding away.  Totally satisfied, he lost his desire to even try and move, and so continued to show no interest or skill in walking, or even crawling.

That all changed in one day.  It was pretty much like every other day, with me and Ingrid running here and there, playing our imagination games.  Ed was parked in his usual spot, slowly and methodically driving yet another nail into the porch.  Mom was sitting on the far end of the porch, taking a smoke break and gazing out at the trees.

There were a lot of dogs in our neighborhood, and we even got one of our own later.  But by and large they didn't get in our yard because we had a fence and a gate our front.  The gate must have been left open that day though, because a large black friendly dog who conveniently went by the name of Blackie wandered into the front yard.  He sniffed his way around, and raised his leg periodically to claim his new territory.  He was drawn to the porch by the periodic bangs of Ed driving nails.  As he started up the steps, Ed saw him coming.

Ed was no stranger to dogs, but Blackie was three times the size of Ed...and from Ed's seated perspective, towered over him.  Over the next few seconds a remarkable event transpired.  Ed's eyes got really big, and he dropped the hammer with a clatter.  He put his hands down together in between his legs, and pushed down hard swinging his feet underneath him.  He took another look at the approaching Blackie, and then down the long porch at mom.  He made his decision, turned to his left and ran the entire length of the porch at high speed - no stumbles, no wobbles - just pure life saving speed.

Mom had turned to look when Ed dropped the hammer, and her jaw dropped when she saw him sprinting to her.  She reached down and scooped him into her lap, and laughed out loud.  Blackie lost interest at that point and trotted down the steps and back out through the gate.

So...Ed bypassed all the usual parts of learning to scoot, crawl, stand, totter, walk and then run.  He'd watched everyone else do it for a long time, but never really felt the need to do it himself before.  But now that he'd done it, he never went back.  From that day on, he walked or ran everywhere he wanted to go.  But he still loved pounding nails, and continued decorating the porch with his handy work until we moved a couple of years later.

Lesson Learned:  Never underestimate the power of motivation to motivate, or my brother Ed when he decides to do something.