My home was set in a quiet little oak grove about half of a football field off the road. Deer, turkey, and a plethora of other wild life wandered past the house daily. In the winter I had birdfeeders that hung so we could watch the wildlife thrive from the living room. When my daughters were young, and before the snow fell, I would place a blanket under our picnic table and then sprinkle birdseed on top of it and let them lie underneath and watch the birds and squirrels as they came to eat.

There is something about living in the country that has always appealed to me. Whether it is the wildlife just outside the front door or the solitude that lulls a person into a peaceful state of being, I am not sure.  It could simply be the freedom to do whatever you feel like doing without having to worry about anyone questioning your actions.

But none of that is really what this story is about.

Every year during the later weeks of August, Mother Nature would let me know the seasons were about to change with the dropping of a single acorn. It always started with just one. That one would hit the metal roof of the garage with a clang or the propane tank causing it to ring like a bell. Then you would not hear another one for several days. It was when you heard the second then third hit the truck top or house that you knew for the next four to six weeks the sounds of acorn impacts would be waking you from a sound sleep nearly every night.

By the time they were done dropping, the yard became a squirrel and deer feeding heaven. One could not take a step without having an acorn or twelve underfoot.

And that is sort of where this story begins…

At the start of Autumn my weekends were spent preparing for winter, mostly leaf removal and putting away those things in the yard that were not designed to be buried in snow. This particular year included a trampoline; it had really seen better days, but still managed to entertain the kids and their friends as well as having become a regular napping spot for the family cat.

For whatever reason the previous weekend I had only partially disassembled it and pulled it up next to the house until I could finish tearing it apart.

I believe it was on that Tuesday I looked at it as I walked from the garage to the house and thought that it now looked like a spring board. I should have never given it a second thought, but I did.

Before long I was trying to decide if I were to jump on it the way it was positioned (at a 30 degree angle ground to house) just how far I could hurl myself. These feelings only became more constant over the next couple of days and seemed to eerily take over my life.

I knew by the end of the week, if I jumped off the roof and hit the trampoline just right, I could easily propel myself twenty feet. I had (in my head) planned my perfect tuck and roll for when I hit the ground, inevitability ending on my feet arms raised like a triumphant Olympic gymnast. It had the components to be spectacular!

On that Friday, I placed a ladder against the house and climbed onto the roof above my bedroom. I surveyed the landing zone, I studied the terrain, and the trees north of the trampoline; I do remember thinking as I stood there that it did look further down than it had looking up from the ground. I convinced myself that it was simply an illusion based on the difference of the location of where my head was. You see its all perspective. Looking up from the ground I was looking up six feet while standing on the roof I added my height to the image and I recognized that from my feet it was only a mere seventy-two inches so really it wasn’t that far from where I was, to the half of trampoline (aka catapult) that was now calling my name saying “Marc you can do it, you can do it!”

I suppose you could say it was a series of fortunate events the next day that lead to what was almost the greatest and glorious stunt in the life of a nearly middle aged man. I was fresh out of a bad marriage and there was no one there to tell me I couldn’t/shouldn’t jump off the roof of the house onto half of a trampoline if I wanted to. My daughters were with their mom for the weekend, my son had gone somewhere with his friends, and I was home alone enjoying the shellacking that Notre Dame was putting on Michigan. It was fourteen to nothing at the half. That as it turned out was all the reason I needed. I headed for the ladder and made my way to the top stood at the edge I looked down one final time. I envisioned the entire spectacular act played out to a tee it was going to be beautiful! I backed up three steps, took a deep breath, dedicated my jump to the Notre Dame Football team, and then I; for lack of a better term, attempted take off…

Here’s where it really all went wrong. You see, Hollywood had lied to me, cartoons have deceived me. In reality; which is where I actually jumped from, the human body does not do the things we are misled to believe it can do. Case in point, you cannot make yourself go up once you have left the edge of a building (or cliff) no matter what the roadrunner, bugs bunny, or daffy duck has done on numerous occasions, I am unfortunate proof of this. My feet left that roof and instead of a resplendent arc a mystical power (let’s call it gravity) grabbed me and began pulling me down. It turns out I didn’t have as much spring in my step as I had hoped, and in my experience my body went prone (or lying flat, especially face downward) instantly, this is bad! I repeat bad, very, very bad! As everyone knows that the most important part of a purposely executed jump is having control over your descent. I now had none. Did I mention prone is bad?

The other thing I gained knowledge of that sunny autumn afternoon is how accelerated the thinking process becomes as a body is in a free fall.  I had a lot of thoughts. The first thing I thought was how soon before my body straightens out and I regain control of my descent. This was followed by if I hit the trampoline in this position, which direction would I fly? Next I thought I can’t even see the trampoline and wondered how far away I was from it. Then oddly just before my thought process came to a screeching halt I debated internally about what kind of noise the body makes when it is suddenly stopped by a mass larger than itself. All of this occurred during what I now refer to as my “twelve foot plummet to earth”. I know it was twelve feet because I measured it later.

At this point I wish I could say that I hit the trampoline and everything was fine, but I’d be lying. As a matter of fact had I hit the target in “body slam” position and had been propelled in some direction I most likely would not be telling this tale. I did hit the ground (Did you see that coming?) just inches away from the edge of the trampoline and learned the human body does not, except in movies, have the ability to bounce even a smidgen.

I woke up somewhere a between couple and several hours later (it was dark out now and the game was long over, to this day I don’t know who won) to the annoying feeling of dozens of mosquitoes sucking precious vitamins and minerals from my face and neck. I swiped them away with my left hand. At first I wasn’t sure why I was lying on the now cold ground.  Without making an effort to figure it out I attempted to get up… OH MY GOD!

It wasn’t a solid pain coursing through me internally like my blood had turned to lava, oh no; but there was a, very precise minute areas of pain from the ball of my right ankle to my neck, and up my right arm that were telling me not to move. I had landed primarily on my right side with my arm extended above my head it seems. I waited a minute or two (okay ten) and worked through what my body was trying to tell me I wasn’t going to be able to do, and after repeated excruciating fails I was finally able to get up off the ground. I gradually made it back in the house. The TV, kitchen, and living room lights were all on and I thought to myself as I hobbled into my bedroom how I would have been yelling at the kids for wasting my hard earned money by leaving these things on while they were not in the house. It was fortunate they were not home to witness my complete lack of financial responsibility or my unusual less than super dad like appearance.

I staggered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The left side of my face looked like teenager with acne from the mosquito bites. I carefully pulled up my shirt and took down my pants. The right side of my body: torso, armpit, arm, leg, and hip was dotted with acorn sized black and blue welts.

Looking at how dark the bruising had already became I knew that I was not going to be able to walk this off. This stunt had definitely left a mark (actually dozens of them), so I took two aspirin and attempted to take a shower. I’ll admit the right side of my body may have gotten wet but there was about a week where there was no soapy scrubbing going on and I don’t think I have to explain to you why.

I no longer have the trampoline nor do I live in that little patch of woods but every year since, when I hear the first acorn of fall hit something metallic I think about how close I came to pulling off what should have been an amazing stunt.