Boys are masters of throwing junk on the roof. You name it, I’ve had to drag it down – from balls, bats and frisbees to shoes, socks and shirts. Somehow they can make anything go up there, and think it’s just great fun. After tossing stuff on the roof, boys run around giggling at each other as if it’s the grandest new joke ever, even though it’s the fourteenth time they’ve done it so far since summer vacation started.
Thank God I can’t afford to put gutters on most of my house, because the one gutter that came installed on the screen porch is jammed up like the Hoover Dam every time it rains. Whiffle balls, nerf footballs, some jacked-up IronMan guy with only one arm left… IronMan made out of plastic, anyway – what did they expect was going to happen when boys got ahold of him?
I always end up on a ladder after a storm, digging down through four inches of water and leaf muck to dislodge whatever item boys have sabotaged me with this time. Did you know that one of those soft pink rubber balls that feels like a school eraser is the perfect size to plug up a downspout tighter than a cork in an 800-year-old bottle of wine? Nearly impossible to remove without serious power tools. And when you finally do get it free – watch out. Sixty gallons of gutter sludge goes rushing down those spouts in a hurry. I’ve almost been sucked in several times.
There was a three inch figure of Ernie from Sesame Street stranded in the middle of the roof in back of our house for like two years at one point. It was one of those spots that’s not quite slanted enough to really scare you, but still much too steep to consider risking to save Ernie.
I tried sending one of the boys up there several times, to no avail. You know, that method where you go “What, you think it’s funny, throwing junk on the roof? Fine, YOU go get it!” And then you hoist them up there all wiggling around while you’re shoving on their rear to push them up and over the eave while they’re screaming. It never works.
Finally I ventured out there last year after we’d gotten a humongous trampoline and stationed it right under Ernie’s rooftop position, where he was already faded on top until he was nearly white. Florida summers are brutal – I’m surprised he wasn’t melted into a little blob of Sesame Street grease by then. I was already up there pulling down some rubber band-powered airplane and a foam boomerang or some such junk, so I figured I’d go for it. Made it out there, rescued Ernie, then decided to jump off the roof and land on the trampoline, with the entire family watching. My wife was NOT happy. She said it set a bad example… Pretty sure that if she’s right, you’ll be hearing about it later on this blog.
As for the flip flop in the picture?
Still up there.
We’re practically to winter at this point – that thing can stay stranded until spring. Or maybe until I shove a howling boy up there while I’m hanging Christmas lights.