Ok, so the title is a little bit of an exaggeration. Still, I did spend an awful lot of time on our trampoline when I was a kid.
The Willis family, who lived up the street and through the woods, were the innovators. They had the first trampoline that I knew about. And the best thing about it was that they didn’t mind if other kids used it. And use it we did.
Of course, I never would have thought to ask for permission from the Willis family or my parents either for that matter. I went up there whenever I could – kids were rather free ranging back then – and jumped and jumped and jumped, until I thought I’d better go home. That point was typically marked – in my neighborhood anyway – by various moms calling at the top of their lungs their respective broods for supper.
I’ll never forget the day that a truck arrived at our house bearing various boxes and pieces that turned out to be our very own trampoline. My excitement was practically beyond measure – I mean how lucky can you get – as us kids assisted our dad in the assembly process. It was a rectangular model with a 5×8 ft. polyester mat. When it was fully sprung and situated in the middle of our back yard under the old pine tree we commenced testing, and believe me we would have taken turns jumping on through the night if we could have. The days, weeks and months that followed the arrival of our own trampoline saw endless hours on the thing. We learned tricks of all description, from easy sit-down-stand-up to flips and twists with variation upon variation. Learning new tricks, and refining old ones, was ever satisfying. We kids experienced the age-old joys of learning and accomplishment through practice and effort; playing on the trampoline put a whole new face on it all.
Children’s imaginations being far-ranging, we thought of all kinds of games to be played with the “tramp.” A favorite was called the towel game, named for the single prop used. The one kid jumping would try to dodge the balled-up towel – not a ball are you kidding it would fly away into the neighbors’ yards – thrown by other participants poised a certain distance from the trampoline. To make it just difficult enough we’d adjust that distance accordingly. We certainly did not need grownups to set rules and guidelines for us, thank you very much.
Jumping with more than two kids at a time seldom ended well, but tandem jumping was a big part of getting the most out of the tramp. Mostly we’d alternate bounces, but often we’d purposely time our jumps to catapult or “popcorn” one another into the air. And if one of the jumpers was much bigger than the other the result of this trick would be a significant altitude gain for the popcorn-ee. Many of my memories of jumping with a friend is of conversation, of talking over minor questions and curiosities about life, or celebrating the excitement of big questions recently answered.
By now you must be wondering if we were ever injured jumping on the trampoline? Well, of course, all the time. A better question might be, “Were there any deaths or permanent maimings among your group?” And the answer would be no, none that I recall. I mean, don’t forget that living life fully involves substantial risk. Anyway, bumps and scratches and scrapes were common. Jumping more than one person at a time frequently led to bumping heads. The two children involved would be reduced to wails and sobs, at least for a few minutes. Also, slipping off the trampoline onto the ground – especially on the hard frozen earth of winter – could similarly render a child senseless for a while. My most noteworthy personal trampoline injury involved getting off-kilter in a front flip and crashing into the springs headfirst, my scrawny shoulders abruptly preventing my complete transit of the space between the springs. Oh, that still hurts.
The trampoline was not only a focal point for frenetic activity; there was time of reflection, contemplation, and peace on it too, such meditation spurred by the rhythmic bouncing up and down, up and down. I remember jumping by myself as the sunset lit the western sky orange over our neighbors’ houses, picturing myself flying like a bird out into those crimson clouds. I remember jumping after dark with my little sister in the crispness of winter as the snow began to fall, engulfing completely our little world into one of flying snowflakes. We flew among them, the flakes colliding with our warm faces, invigorating us and nudging us into hazy realization that our lives of happy innocence were so special, if not the realization that such innocence was fleeting.
Excuse me, I need to go jump on the trampoline….it’s a time machine, you know.
– Johnny Robinson
