Bouncing My Head Off the Wall

In elementary school, recess was a time to stretch our imaginations. The outdoor toys available were mostly deflated kickballs and plastic skipping ropes with missing handles. Many of us opted to spend the break playing make-believe or colouring by the foursquare box. We developed whole cities in chalk outline. 

The grassy side of the yard was left for violent games. Though more physical, the rules were just as creative. We played Red Rover and versions of tag that were more like tackle football. One year my class was caught organizing jousting matches, complete with sticks as lances and friends acting as steeds.

To be fair, we were learning about the middle ages in class. 

For kids, creativity comes easy. We made up new games every week, and every season came with a fad. Around Thanksgiving, we pretended to hunt turkeys in the field. In the Spring, we carved trenches in the mud to guide water toward the school.

One Fall, we were obsessed with bouncy balls.

I don't remember how it started -likely a popular girl gave us the idea - but for weeks we would chuck bouncy balls at the school wall, trade them like marbles, and run competitions to see whose bounced the highest. The balls became a form of currency, and we took pride in our collection. 

I had upward of 25, and I loved them like pets. So much so that I named each one. I called one “Toothpaste” after it broke in half on a rock and I glued it back together with Colgate.

In retrospect, I don’t remember the point of the bouncy balls. We weren’t trying to “catch ‘em all” or develop a skill. All I remember is the simple joy of throwing something at a wall for no other reason than everyone else is doing it.

It was meditative.

Vibin’

There was always one asshole who tried to up the ante. Some pent-up boy would inevitably weaponize bouncy balls by whipping them at girls' heads or tossing someone's entire collection into the yard. Chaos for the sake of chaos.

It only takes one to ruin it for everyone. As quickly as the fad started, it was ended by teachers. Throwing rubber balls posed a new danger, and everyone was told to leave their stash at home. The next week we were on to something new. 

As an adult, I've traded my bouncy balls for responsibilities. Over the years my collection has mutated and multiplied. What was once a manageable basket has swollen to contain chores the size of bowling balls, plans as fragile as glass ornaments, and bills that pop up like spiky sea urchins. Each one needs its own special kind of care. 

Looking at my to-do list feels like running after an unleashed pile of bouncy balls. I have tasks flying at my head, rolling underfoot, and rebounding out of reach. They’ve scattered in opposite directions, each one more important than the last.

My thoughts have dispersed along with them. My brain feels like it’s in a million places, but my body is frozen in the yard, watching my responsibilities bobble away. I dropped the balls, I’m too tired to chase them down.

I don't think any amount of toothpaste can fix this... 

A look into my week

This week’s school shooting news hit me hard. I’ve had to close my laptop more times than usual, and every new detail brings me to tears. I’ve pictured myself playing with bouncy balls at school a thousand times, and I still can’t wrap my head around someone opening fire.

I can’t bear that kids had to watch their friends die. 

Despite not having the flashiest toys or even the kindest classmates, my elementary school provided safety. My country provided safety. I was never nervous about anything more significant than a lost bouncy ball or spilled container.

When I heard what happened in Uvalde, all the balls I had in the air - the fragile ones, the heavy ones, the ones too big for me to catch - seemed insignificant. I stopped caring which I picked up, and which dribbled away forever. 

Instead, I wanted to sit and stare at the wall.

Right now there's only one thought that keeps bouncing in my brain: “why do we let this happen?” I am stuck in a prison of news, throwing that question over and over and over again.

Why?

Why?

Why?

There are no good answers bouncing back.

I am one of the thousands who are throwing the same ball at the internet. The wall we keep hitting is one of republican denial and false Christian ideals:

Guns are better than babies.

Babies are better than women.

America is better than everyone.

Their solution is more chaos for the sake of chaos. More babies no one can take care of. More guns to slaughter them with. It's like politicians are inventing their own violent games at recess, only there aren't any teachers to force them to stop.

We will joust each other until there is nothing left.  

Through my angry tears and confusion, emails don’t stop coming. Nor do the calendar reminders and bill notifications. Life is moving on, but I'm not sure that I can stand up again without tripping over all the balls I’ve dropped. 

To cope, I’m desperately trying to find my rhythm by focusing on one task at a time. I'm gluing myself together, not with toothpaste, but by finding joy in the simple things: meditating, playing a game, or bouncing a ball.