Non-existent Porches, First Communions, and Gingersnaps

      When I was six, my parents, my sisters and I came home one night and Mom decided that she wanted to tear down the front porch. Anyone who knows my Mom would not be surprised by this. Likewise, anyone who knows the rest of my family would not be surprised to know that we didn't even question her. We just grabbed hammers and baseball bats, and started tearing down the front porch. The idea, of course, was to eventually build a better porch. Two years later, however, there was still an empty spot where the porch once stood. It could have been because my Dad  had several jobs, and just didn't have the time to build a porch. It could have been lack of funds. It could have been indecisiveness on the part of the designer. At any rate, the non-existent porch provided for an odd image.The steps to the the porch still stood as if they were leading to the porch, but  instead there was a sand/dirt pit, which led to the front door, which was about three feet in the air.
       I daydreamed of building a catapult to launch me into the house. But more often, I thought of ways that I could jump from the front door to the steps, which were about six feet away. I am not sure why this was so important to me, other than the fact that I have always liked challenges.But figuring out a way to make that jump consumed much of my time. I knew that if I could get a running start, I could make that leap. The problem was that getting a running start would require someone to hold the door for me, and neither of my sisters would agree to that.
       Then, on the day of my First Communion, something miraculous happened. I was a little confused about miracles, and was even more surprised that one was happening for me,  since I had already accidentally ate a ginger snap while my sister Denise was fixing my hair for the occasion. I was fairly certain that I was going to hell for the gingersnap debacle, which broke the "no eating before communion" rule. But back to the miracle. When I walked through the living room and started to step into the hallway that led to the front door, I saw my Dad standing in the dirt/sand pit, lifting Kris down from the doorway. His back was to me, essentially holding the door open. This was my chance. I immediately backed up into the living room to give myself proper distance to build up speed, and because I was wearing a veil, I was sure that it would give me enough lift to launch me over to the steps. When Dad tells this story, he says that he turned around to reach for my hand, thinking that he would help me just as he had helped Kris. But I was just a white blur flying past him.Yes, the speed may have given me a little more distance. Yes, the veil may have given me a little more lift. But the steps were just a little too far, and I landed with both knees on the concrete stairs, and slid down into the sandy dirt below. "Well, that was dainty." Dad said, as he helped me up.
       As it turns out, I didn't immediately go to hell for eating the gingersnap. I did, however pose for several First Communion pictures. I wish I still had one to post here. Of all the pictures that once existed of my childhood, I think that one probably represented me the best. I looked so angelic, in my white dress with my hands in that prayer position......until you looked  my bloody, scraped and skinned knees and shins. Then you could see the real me. The kid who tried things just to see if they could be done. The kid who could smile like it wasn't a big deal that she was missing half the skin on her shins, because she had come closer to accomplishing her goal than she ever had before. I kind of liked that kid. While there are lessons to be learned in incidents like that, I also kind of try to be a little more like that kid every day. Because she was fearless and optimistic, and truly believed that a little bit of a running start, and a veil acting as a cape could make all the difference. But mostly, because she stood up from the sandy dirt pit, dusted herself off, and went about her day.