Posted on: Sunday, October 10, 2004

By Michael C. DeMattos

We have had hot days and cold days, this year, but very few dry days.

The last two storms have wreaked havoc on my roof. So when the sun rose to a cloudless sky, I mustered some energy, the requisite tools and a good friend, and climbed the ladder of home repairs.

It took an entire morning, but we replaced all of the broken shingles on the east side of the house. That left just the north face to worry about, but that would wait for another day when my energy and my friend returned.

As we washed the tools, my wife asked how it went. She seemed interested, so I asked if she wanted to take a look; she declined. I asked again, and she surprised me when she said that she was afraid to go up the ladder.

Two weeks later, the sun was out, and I headed for the roof. My friend was unable to make it, and so I was going to fly solo. Then my wife did something I was not expecting: She offered to come up and help me.

She said she wanted to face her fear, but it seemed to me that she also wanted to make sure I was safe. It was clear she did not like the idea of my being up their alone. I was flattered; she put my well-being ahead of her own.

I set the ladder against the roof, and after a few safety tips, she began her ascent. She slowly climbed up, placing both feet on each rung until she was nearly level with the roof. Then with a guiding hand, she stepped up.

Her legs were shaking and her eyes were swollen with tears — whether tears of joy or fear, I could not tell.

After a moment to regroup, we slowly walked the low-pitched roof together while she regained her composure.

The rest of the morning went off without a hitch. I lifted, ripped, replaced, nailed and glued while she assisted. It seemed that with each passing minute her confidence grew and she was soon walking the roof like an old pro. By noon, the job was done and it was time to climb down.

My wife cautiously approached the ladder and then got on all fours. Facing the ladder, she stuck out her right foot reaching for the first rung, but could not reach it.

"My legs are too short," she said, half laughing and half crying.

"They are just right," I assured her. "Face your back to the ladder, grab hold of the top rung with your hands and then step onto the ladder. Climb down the same way you climbed up."

She tried twice, each time succumbing to her fear. Then on her third try, she did it; she was on terra firma again.

I know it is a cliché, but courage is not the absence of fear; it is the willingness to press on despite one's fears.

If you want to know who is really tough, find someone who stares down his or her own fears.

But be warned, courage comes in a variety of packages.

You may find, like I did, that the little pre-school teacher with the soft voice and long black hair is no damsel in distress, but a warrior maiden ready to battle the most persistent of foes, her own fear.

Family therapist Michael C. DeMattos has a master's degree in social work.