Learning to Fall: and he. Elsabeth Jacobs left the office walking with a cane, and for a minute, when she and her momma were standing together with Doc Minnehan, who is kinda tubby himself, Dad and me had to step into the stair hallway so all the large people could make it out of the front door to their house. The poor Jacobs family is cursed with being huge. Momma told me once that when Mr. Jacobs' momma died it took ten men to get her body out of their house. It doesn't help that Mrs. Jacobs and her daughter eat a half a gallon of ice cream after dinner every night while they watch baseball practice.
"Well, now Mr. Sherman, let's get that ratty cast off your arm and see how we're doing." Doc Minnehan calling me Mister Sherman, and not in a looking-down-his-nose kinda way was the second time someone treated me like I was a grown man.
Doc Minnehan took Dad and me into the office and in less than a minute he had my cast in two perfect halves by using this loud, nasty looking can opener thingie that didn't hurt at all but more like, kinda' tickled.
"The bones look good," he said turning my arm around in his soft hands. "Here's a new sling," he tied it on me, talking the whole time, "and here's your prescription for some physical therapy you'll have to take over in Raleigh. And, just gently wash that skin for the first few days," here he looked over his glasses and he wagged his finger at me, "and no picking or scratching."
I looked down at my arm and it looked like someone spread peanutbutter and dirt on my arm about a month ago and let it sit out in the sun. It stank like Tribble's butt.