The Big Rock

As children we spent most of our time playing on a large sandstone rock we called The Big Rock, a 15 foot tall boulder, and we climbed it without chalk or ropes or special shoes. We identified the foot holds and we pulled ourselves up with our own strength. Brother MM and the youngest neighbor boy were too young and unable to pull themselves up – so we worked together to get them to the top.

The rock was divided into “rooms” and The Big Kids’ Bedroom was outlined by a large crevice. We Big Kids didn’t allow The Little Kids in the bedroom because we were afraid they would fall into the crack. We were so responsible. We had rules. We had designated bathrooms – rocks behind which we did our thing – one for boys and the other for girls.

As diligent as we were regarding the society, public health and safety of our little world on The Big Rock, it didn’t stop baby brother, aged 3, from falling off the boulder. Luckily he landed in the middle of a yucca plant. Whew! We all gathered around him, convincing him and ourselves that he was ok, and made him promise to never tell Dad.

Years later, I returned to The Big Rock to discover the Big Kids’ Bedroom had fallen off all together and, unlike my lucky brother, it shattered when it hit the ground.

A couple of weeks ago, my baby brother fell again. Pretty hard. From quite a distance. And once again, it was kind of my fault. This time I tried to catch him. He didn’t need to be caught, though. I like to think he learned how to land on his own two feet back when he fell off The Big Rock. Back when I learned to let him fall. We’re both still learning.