Sound of Drifting Off

So what was I prepared to risk? Could I move from this spot and ease the cramp in my feet before my father woke and realised he had drifted off to sleep in the chair. Or at least take a few steps and be back in the spot before he stirred. We were fairly familiar with the sudden waking process of my father. When waking from his Sunday afternoon naps, while sitting in his chair, after a deep fried ‘mock whitebait’ fitter lunch (see blog 19^th June 2012) and a beer or two. As he sat in his chair in front of all of us, nearest to the television, so he wouldn’t be bother by our shifting around and leg jiggling, which we sometimes used to do when sitting watching something, much to his annoyance (hence the position of his chair). If he had drifted off to sleep, while we were all there watching, we would gesture with a head flick or a nod to the others and try not to giggle. If he started snoring, we tried not to laugh. And if the volume of the snoring increased, we tried harder. On occasions if we were in the room and our mother was in the kitchen talking to others, the small hatch window would quickly slide open and a terse single word “Laurie!” would be barked at him. This of course caused him to wake, to do the sudden shake of the head, eye wide reaction, which was usually followed by the exaggerated smacking of lips, as the mouth in mid-snore probably had saliva either dripping down the side of the mouth or at least sitting in the mouth. He would then look around to us crossly as if we had disturbed him. Only to realise as the hatch slid closed, that it wasn’t our noise which had woken him. We wouldn’t dare.

There was a possibility that I could at least take some of the pressure off my cramping feet as my father snored in the chair. If I could very quietly sneak forward to walk briefly on the carpet, just for a few paces. I was sure I could loosen the pained muscles in my legs and particularly my toes. But then, that would mean risking moving forward. Towards, not only the carpet, but also towards the snoring figure of my father in his chair. Just how brave was I really, or how much pain was I actually in? Could the risk of additional punishment and the pain that would likely come with it, out weigh the current pain in my legs and feet. The answer was a resounding yes! Of course it would. That is one of the great concepts (and pitfalls) which thinking humans engage in. Whatever is now, particularly when bad, painful or terrifying, can’t get any worse? Surely? Wrong! The first issue is to take the next step. To move through whatever is happening and move on. Regardless, of whether it is a bad situation. To take a risk.

(Continued tomorrow)