I was four years old that long ago day I wandered into the top of our barn. I was looking for Blondie, our barn cat, as I was bored and lonesome. Mom was busy doing laundry with her wringer washer and the older kids were all in school. My younger brother Danny was a baby and no fun at all. I couldn't figure out where Danny had come from and I didn't like him too much. It really made me mad when Danny took over my crib. Who did he think he was anyhow?

So, here I was, not only bored but pouting because Danny took my place as spoiled baby of the family. On top of that, I couldn't find Blondie anywhere. She must have moved her kittens somewhere else. Oh well, I would find something else to do.

I looked at the ladder that went up to the cross beams in the barn. Maybe I could climb up there; I saw my older brothers and sisters do it all the time. They would climb up on the beams and use the rope for hauling up bales of hay to play Tarzan of the jungle. They would swing across the barn and drop into the soft corn fodder on the other side. My siblings always told me I was too little and it was too dangerous. I must wait till I got bigger before I tried it. I figured I was plenty big enough but they refused to let me try. Well, they weren't there that day so who was going to stop me?

I scurried up the ladder and threw my leg over the beam. Next, I scooted along on my butt until I got to the rope. I leaned out to grab the rope and that's when I looked down; a long way down. It was a good twenty feet or more to the barn floor. I bent over and wrapped my arms as far as I could around the beam. Fear had me totally paralyzed. There was only one solution to my predicament and that was Mom. I began to howl at the top of my lungs.

It must have been a good half hour before mother heard me when she went out to hang up clothes. She came running into the barn and spotted me clinging to the beam and howling like a banshee. Mom told me to calm down and back slowly towards the ladder. My answer was to howl louder and cling to that beam even tighter. No way was I going to let go or move.

Mom gave an exasperated shake of her head and slowly started up the ladder. She put one leg over the beam and inched her way to where I was. She had to pry my fingers loose and carefully pull me up against her so she could slide backward to the ladder. I don't know how she got us both down without falling. I know I was no help whatsoever. It must have been extremely difficult to get a hysterical child down that ladder to safety. One slip could have meant severe injury or even death. My mother was my hero that long ago day.

I learned in later years that Mom had a terrible fear of heights. That day there was no one else around to get me down so she did what she had to do and conquered her fear to save her child. I don't think there is anything more heroic than a mother's love. My mother will always be my number one hero.