Larry

His name is Larry. Don’t ask me how I know, I just know. Larry got the short straw when he drew my name and so far, he has been regretting it for 68 years. You see, Larry is my guardian angel.

Now, you may ask how I know that I have an angel. Well, first there is the fact that I have lived through what I call the Stunts of Stupidity since I was a child. Second, the Bible says in Psalm 91: For He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up lest you strike your foot against a stone. And again, in Exodus 20: Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.

I feel sorry for Larry, as do the rest of my family and friends. Was assigning me to him a form of God’s punishment? I mean, he could just as easily have been assigned to a staid, prim, and proper young lady who would go on to become a frumpy librarian and who would never take the chances which stress him out. But Larry got me.

The first seven years of my life were unrealistically easy for Larry. He would sleep in every morning until 6:30. Getting up off his cloud mattress, he would yawn, stretch, and check himself in the mirror to make sure his wing feathers didn’t have a cowlick. Then he would grab his lunch pail and head to our house to watch me for the day. Mind you, there were six humans living in our house and each also had a guardian angel of their own.

“Elmer, Mary Sue, Edna, Bruce, Chas,” he would acknowledge the other angels as he entered the house. Picking up his timecard he would punch in and setting his lunch pail on the table he would pull up a chair and sit next to me or follow me around until the shift ended.

And then I grew into the inquisitive years. The elementary and middle school years where my best friend, Chuck and I explored physics – what happens when things blow up; how far can you climb up and hang from the top of a tree before it snaps? We went through Boy Scouts together and sharpened knives, chopped with axes and played with fire. Suddenly, Larry had to earn his keep.

It must have felt like what I am experiencing now as a 3rd through 5th grade youth leader. There is no rest while herding those cats.

Then we went into the high school and college years: driver’s licenses, river running, snow tubing, and becoming a licensed pilot.

It was during these years that Larry began graying. Mornings were harder to get up for. He had put in several times for a guardian change, but he must have done something to really tick off God because it was denied each time.

I then became a helicopter barnstorming crop duster, diving over powerlines into a field only to pull up over a barn or tall trees at the other end of the field. I can remember looking at the empty seat next to me and wondering where the scent of puke was coming from. Apparently even angels get airsick.

Most of the time, Larry allowed my antics; I mean, his job isn’t to get in the way as much as it is to protect me. But sometimes Larry just flat-out had enough.

My friend, Rex and I went out to Lake Samish one sunny warm day in August. On the far west end of the lake was a camp called Lutherwood. We would park at the camp and walk along the shore through the woods to a tree which hung out over the water. A thick rope was tied high up in the tree and hung down to the water line which was used as a swing. It had a large knot tied at the bottom to sit on if you chose.

There were already quite a few high school age kids there that day. One at a time, a swinger would take the rope by the knot and climb up the steep hillside, over stumps and boulders until they reached a spot they wanted to swing from. Many times, the rope was pulled parallel to the water, 20 feet above the waterline. The swinger would then jump, riding the rope down the hillside to swing high out over the water before dropping into the lake.

Because I had a rope swing at my house, I was adept at soaring through the air like Tarzan, so to add a little flare to my swing I would flip upside down and shoot down the hill with my head inches above the stumps and boulders. This took Larry over the edge, and he had had enough.

The rope had been tied in that tree for years and been swung hundreds of times. On that day at the lake, it had swung at least 40 times. Rex had just swung and dropped into the lake. He then reached for the knot to hand it to the next swinger when the unexplained happened — when he touched the knot, without putting any weight on it at all, the rope dropped from the tree and fell into the lake. We all stood there shocked. Larry was done with this nonsense.

As I put in my time working in heavy industry, Larry was there with me – hard hat, safety goggles, steel-toed boots, PR-97 clothes, and all. I could tell he was getting grouchy with the hours but still he kept me safe.

Three years ago, I retired much to Larry’s delight. Life is getting easy for him again. His stress levels are a lot lower, and he may be getting a bit tubby.

Just the other day, we were sitting on the front porch in the two wicker chairs. I was eating a large slice of Devil’s Food cake. Of course, I set out a slice of Angel Food cake for him. Aware that I have lived to the age of 68 because of Larry, who is still under orders from God, I realize that the two of us must still have some work left to do.

But I am now old and wrinkled. We are both bald, and Larry is beginning to molt.

We watch together as a Harley Roadster roars past the house.

“That looks like fun,” I fantasize.

“Don’t even think about it!” he says.

“That Larry,” I chuckle, “thinks he can tell me what I can’t do.”

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