W. Bruce Cameron

You've probably heard the expression "I've fallen, and I can't get up," which would be a very appropriate Official Motto for my 401(k). It's often heard in old TV commercials, in which an elderly woman summons medical assistance via a transmitter in a necklace medallion that looks a little like something Mr. T would wear.

"I've fallen, and I can't get up, though I am smiling and cheerful because I'm not exactly the world's best actor," she says.

This commercial speaks to me because I am a member of what is sometimes called the "sandwich generation," stuck between having children who need financial support and parents who want me to make them a sandwich.

My parents don't think they need my assistance, of course, even though my tiny mother has a dog that weighs 100 pounds, which means it outweighs her by roughly 100 pounds. The dog is gentle and loving, but when it sees a squirrel, it takes off with a force that could pull a truck out of a ditch, and I know that if my Mom fell and screamed for help, my dad would jump right up to rescue her as soon as it was halftime.

So I tried to talk my mother into getting one of those "I've fallen" transmitters.

"No, Audrey has one of those, it's silly, it looks like she won the Olympics," my mother said dismissively.

When I asked her what would happen if she fell in the yard, she replied that she wasn't planning to fall. "I don't think anyone plans to fall, Mom," I told her.

My father wasn't much help either. "What happens if Mom falls outside and yells for you — would you hear her and be able to go help her?" I asked him.

"Depends who's playing," he responded.

But then something interesting happened: Audrey, she of the Olympic-medal transmitter, did fall at her house. My mother was there at the time, as were several other women from her church, and I don't know what they were doing at the time, but I don't think it was karate or anything; Audrey just fell down.

Now, these women are all very nice, but when it comes to trying to help a fallen comrade — well, let's just say that my diminutive mother is the big one of the group.

They wisely decided that if they tried to lift Audrey, they would one by one injure themselves until all the ladies wound up lying there in a pile. Besides, Audrey had been wearing a medical transmitter around her neck for a couple of months and was eager to try it out, so she pushed the button.

The ladies decided to sit back down at the table and look casual in case the police arrived and suspected them of pushing Audrey over on purpose. But it wasn't the police who responded, it was the fire department, in the form of a man named Jerry, who as my mom later described him to me, was apparently built entirely of biceps.

Jerry tenderly reached down and scooped up Audrey, who put her arms around Jerry's neck and lay her head on his chest. He carried her over to a chair and gently set her down, which took a few minutes because Audrey wouldn't let go. Finally, he told her that he thought she had a bad sprain, though how anything could be considered "bad" when Audrey was giggling so much is difficult to say.

My mother volunteered to take Audrey to the ER for an X-ray, which earned her a dirty look from Audrey, who wanted to go in Jerry's car and then maybe later drive up to Make Out Point. Jerry left, after politely refusing offers of coffee, a slice of pie and a muscle rub.

So naturally now my mother is buying a medical transmitter (what she calls a "dial-a-hunk necklace") and for all I know is out in the yard setting up tripwires. Until it arrives from the mail-order company, she's spending a lot of time over at Audrey's house, probably making Audrey run obstacle courses.

So it looks like I was wrong: Sometimes, people do plan to fall.

To write Bruce Cameron, visit his Website at www.wbrucecameron.com. To find out more about Bruce Cameron and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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