Christmas and acrophobia do not mix

I’ve mentioned previously in this column that I suffer from acrophobia, a fear of heights. I can’t step onto a high curb without little, black spots swimming before my eyes.

As a kid, I would force myself to spend hours at a time in my tree house, located about 20 feet up in a backyard chestnut tree.

I built the thing myself with scrap lumber scrounged from around the neighborhood. No one familiar with my construction skills will be surprised to hear that tree house was dangerously unstable. Every time the wind blew, parts of it worked loose and dropped to the ground.

Still, I sat up there every day, all summer long, reading Superman and Magnus the Robot Fighter comics, my knees knocking, my breath rasping in and out in short, desperate gasps.

It didn’t help me overcome my fear of heights.

Decades later, the phobia is still with me. To this day, I can actually make myself dizzy even while standing on level ground; all I have to do is look up and pretend I’m elevated. The mere illusion of height is enough to give me a serious case of the heebee-jeebees (from the Latin, heebus-jeebus, aka “the willies”).

So is it any wonder the idea of hanging Christmas lights fills me with such dread?

Each October I start thinking about it, about rooflines and ladders and staple-guns and tangled strings of twinkle lights and strong, November winds. And how they all conspire to send me to an early grave. By the time The Lovely Mrs. Taylor actually brings the decoration-filled boxes up from the basement, I’ve worked myself into a tizzy not unlike the one experienced by Jimmy Stewart in “Vertigo.”

But I’m the man, and it is the man’s sacred duty to brave November winds, ladders and so on to get those lights hung before the kids arrive for the holidays.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I must admit that most of the roofline of my house – at least the parts to which we attach Christmas lights – is only about eight feet off the ground. I can hang lights in these places while standing on the ladder’s second rung. Even that small elevation makes me a little queasy, but if I don’t think about it too much, I can cope.

The peak over the front porch, however … that is high. I’m not sure how high, because I’m lousy at estimating distances, but it’s high enough that a fall from that height would probably land me in the hospital, if I was lucky enough to survive at all.

Nevertheless, there I was last weekend, working my way around the front of the house, ever closer to that peak. Every time I hung a light and moved the ladder one spot to the left, I was forced to step onto the next highest rung in order to reach the roofline.

Three, four, five, six … my ladder has only nine rungs, which is more than enough for my tastes, lemme tell ya.

Nearing the peak, I had to place both feet on step number seven, the one that has printed on it in police-tape-yellow the legend: DO NOT STAND ABOVE THIS STEP! Swaying precariously in the frigid, late-November gusts, I stapled the string of lights to the roof and shakily descended.

I moved the ladder three feet to the left, directly beneath the peak. I glanced up. The peak was already slightly obscured by the black dots dancing before my eyes. Before I could chicken out, I grabbed the end of the string of lights and scurried back up.

Step five, six, seven … then step number eight. I was above the DO NOT STAND ABOVE THIS STEP rung. The only place to go from here was the flat top platform where the two halves of the ladder come together.

The police-tape-yellow printing on the platform read: DO NOT STAND HERE! ARE YOU NUTS? DIDN’T YOU READ THE MESSAGE ON STEP NUMBER SEVEN?!

Reaching up, I grasped the roofline and eased onto the platform. I slowly moved the light-string into place, positioned the staple gun and – thwap – fired home a staple.

The ladder trembled. I trembled. I discovered, to my surprise, that I still know all the words to the Rosary. I was on my fifth Hail Mary when my feet again made contact with the ground.

The lights look great, which is a good thing, since they’re going to be up there until the wind knocks ‘em down in April.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or offers of free psychological counseling, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at http://realitycheck.shoutpost.com.