Tumbling Towards a Career

My newly-arrived into this world only a month ago,sibling isin my own world now where the 'threesome--me, mom n dad', was now expanded by one. The three muskateers were no more . . . I needed a song that would be my own and this memory comes to mind when I heard it not the first time, but the best time ! Anyway, at five years old all I really liked to do is play but not just for fun, with a purpose. I loved tumbling, standing on my head, rolling or bouncing along on sand or gentle grass. The swingset was where I thought I could either be a pilot and fly or be a gymnast and maneuver myself as a skilled tumbler contortionist. I opted for the latter choice and began getting good at falling off the swingset without hurting myself.

I balanced myself on the long narrow planks of the merry-go-round staying as flexible as possible when jumping off and tumbling into a graceful upright position. But I found the swing was a much better 'propellant' as each time I swung higher, I propelled myself off the seat and landed at a farther distance away from the swingset. Picture the seat which is a lacquered with green paint board with a whole cut into each corner of this rectangle shapein which massive chain-links also painted forest green, connected to those corners and hooked up to a huge hook at the top bar. From the ground where my feet kicked away most of the grass and left dirt was about twelve feet off the ground, you could swing pretty high. This huge green toy was my favorite influence to keeping me energetic and focused, like a good career someday would.

One day I decide to carefully swing past my regular height I gage is safe to jump from and there comes music blasting from this renter's 8 track tape player home stereo system. He has plugged it into the kitchen and sets it outside on our huge kitchen table which has been transferred from indoors to outdoors. A picnic is starting and soon my little world will be full of adults again eating, drinking and laughing. This is 1970, a new decade and we are living in the 'borscht era' with bungalow colonies scattered all over the place. Ours was the best. It was always full to its capacity. Grandma never turned a good person down and to grandma they were all good people.

I swung at just the perfect height when Tom Jones sang of the beautiful green green grass of home when I landed on the softest part of the back lawn, avoiding the tree root which would of been paralyzing and not fun, all because I concentrated and went into my music for my moment. This calculated response to such demanding physical activity, the tumbling into an upright position was more than graceful. It would have been a 'perfect 10' from the judges. Many years later still trying in very minor competitions, an injury robbed jme of ever going to the Olympics. And it was not because I tumbled wrong, my knee gave out on a landing of a near-perfect 'penny drop'.

Oh well so much for the Olympics but my green green grass of home is still the softest place to land in my soul . . . ready ego lets go there.