Sunday, 21 December 2003 | Trampoline

It was a big enough gift that it covered a handful of occasions, and it was completely unexpected. I'd just come back from camp—I was nine—and I saw it through the kitchen window, standing prominently in the yard, its round nylon nucleus and its shiny metal springs. I yelled an excited "thank you" as I ran out the door to greet it, to climb on it, and to jump around like popcorn until my legs and energy collapsed.

I spent every sunny day of the next several summers on it; my friends and I would play various skill-intensive games, we'd lie on it in our bathing suits until our skin melted into an unhealthy shade of brown, and we'd set the moving sprinkler underneath so we could jump through the water. We'd teach each other jumps and handsprings and flips and became springy little gymnasts. We pushed the trampoline next to a tree house and fell from the sky like acorns. My dad would sometimes "coach" me at my request (although, honestly, I don't recall him really criticizing my attempts). A few times my friends and I camped out on it in our sleeping bags.

Sometimes we hurt ourselves by falling through the springs or landing on each other in a ball of sharp elbows and knees, but we were young and resilient, and jumped right back on.

My parents eventually were forced dismantle it when I was in college, thanks to a pack of random kids who'd regularly make use of it and leave trash scattered around the yard. I've jumped since, though, on other trampolines, and have discovered I can still do most of the things I used to be able to do; the difference is, I'm only brave enough to do the things I already know, unlike the young version of myself, who'd try relatively reckless stunts without much coaxing.

Anyway, it occurred to me that I should look out for a trampoline while I'm visiting NC over Christmas. It also occurred to me, a few weeks ago, that I ought to go bowling with some friends who had invited me. Perhaps it's a good sign, but I keep completely forgetting that I recently broke my arm.

These days I'm no longer going to physical therapy, due to the stingy limitations of my health insurance, despite my physical therapist's insistence that this is a "critical time" for me. So instead, I'm trying to force myself to straighten and strengthen my arm on my own.

It's not going very well, and I can't figure out why. I can't figure out why my arm isn't more important than making mix CDs or sitting at the computer doing whatever seems productive or hanging out with friends or sleeping an extra ten minutes. It's a mystery.

I'm trying to do better.