Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived just down the road.  He had very, very black hair and very, very brown eyes and almost no wisdom.  His family was large, with six brothers and four sisters and one father and one mother.  It was fun living in such a big family except when mom forgot his name.  Then she would start at the top and call out each name until she hit his.

“Janet?  Peter? Rachael? Rosie? Doyle?  Doyle!”  She would say, and finally the little boy named Doyle would shout out, “That’s me!”

One day when dad was out working in the garage and mom was busy making lunch, Doyle noticed that the poles that held the stair rails up were just wide enough to fit his head through.  It was a tight fit, but Doyle tried it anyway.  His ears stuck out from the side of his head like handles on a coffee cup so he had to work to get his ears through.  He grinned when they finally popped out on the other side of the stairs.  This was fun!

Of course his shoulders were much too large to make it through the space, so when the fun of having his head on the wrong side of the stair rail wore off, he pulled his head back out.

ARGH!  His ears wouldn’t go back through the space! 

“Mom,” Doyle cried, “Mom! Help!”

“Oh, Doyle,” Mom said as she came running, “What have you gotten into now?”

When she saw Doyle with his head on one side of the stair rail and his bottom end sticking up in the air trying to pull out, she rolled her eyes.  “I’ll go get the lotion.”

The lotion helped to make the spindles slick, but try as he might, Doyle still couldn’t pull himself out of the stair rail. 

They tried taping Doyle’s ears down flat to his head.  It made his mouth look like he was smiling, but it didn’t help him to pull out of the spindles.  “I’m going to be in here forever.”  Doyle said, tears crept into his eyes.

“Dad and I won’t let you stay in there forever,” Mom said as she ran to get the shoehorn.

The shoehorn didn’t help because the lotion made it slip.  When Mom came back with a towel, she brought Dad, too.

“Hmmm…” was all that Dad said; then he turned and headed downstairs to his workshop.  Mom dried the lotion off the spindle and tried the shoehorn again.  It might have worked if they had two of them…  …but maybe not.

Doyle’s ears were starting to hurt front and back.  The tape had pulled some of his hair out so that hurt too. When he finally saw Dad come up from the basement, Doyle was sure the saw he had in his had was to cut off his ears.

“I’m sorry Dad,” Doyle said, “Don’t cut off my ears.”

“I wouldn’t cut off your ears, son,” Dad laughed, “Your ears didn’t decide to put their head through the stair rail.”

Doyle struggled again to get his head out of the railings, but it didn’t work.  “Don’t cut off my head, either!”

“He won’t cut off your head, Doyle,” Mom said, giving Dad a punch in the side.  “Don’t scare the boy, dear.”

Dad put the saw up to the spindle that held the stair rail up and Doyle’s head tight, and drew it across the wood making a sawing line.

Finally Doyle understood.  Dad was going to take the spindle out!

Dad sawed and sawed until finally the spindle came free of the rail.  Pulling it aside, he pushed Doyle’s head out of the railing.

Doyle was so happy he did a little dance right their on the stairs!  Then Mom swept him up and hugged him to her.  “Doyle, what made you do that in the first place?  Why did you put your head through the spindles holding the railing up?”

“Aw gee, Mom,” Doyle said, hugging her back, “you never told me not to!”