Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The trampoline competition was way off my Olympic radar. Now, I'm REALLY thinking I could have been a contender. If only I would have known.
Last night, I was shocked - SHOCKED, I tell you - to see athletes competing for gold on a trampoline not unlike the one in the Greens' backyard in the old neighborhood. (Since my dad worked in the insurance industry, we were never allowed to have a tramp of our own. "Let the other poor suckers have the liability," he'd say. Of course, we were never prohibited from jumping the other suckers' trampoline. Parents weren't as protective back then.)
I loved the feeling of flying on a trampoline. My friends and I would jump so high, we could see over all the backyard fences down the line. Sometimes, we'd even see Mrs. Miller sunbathing topless. (Quite the scandal, back in those days!)
And we did tricks, too! We'd jump from our feet to our tummies to our seats in smooth succession. Once in a while, we'd even attempt a flip, although rarely would we "stick" a landing. Occasionally, we'd come down perilously close to the edge, and even fall onto the hard ground.
Maybe that's why I never let my kids have a tramp of THEIR own. ("Let the other poor suckers have the liability," I'd say. "And, no, you CAN'T jump on the Taylors' trampoline either!")
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