The Day I Stood Up
Just another day at the park
One of my stories from Marc Cordon’s Storyteller Circle.
They say ten year olds shouldn’t be left unsupervised, but I think that’s a bunch of BS. I stand up for all of us.
My brother plays baseball a lot. It feels like we’re out at the baseball fields every day. It’s probably more like once a week. But watching little league baseball, even once a week feels like every day.
My brother plays baseball in a park near the house. It has two fields lined back to back so two games can be played at the same time. In between the fields is a walkway that leads to the back parking lot. You can walk directly behind the fields and watch the games from an outfielder’s point of view too if you’re super bored.
Outside of the fields, there are some more interesting things to keep us entertained. There’s a playground filled with white sand. Nothing fancy, just a slide, some monkey bars, and a pair of swings.
I don’t know if every kid tries this, but I only have one goal on that playground.
I hold the swing against my butt, lean back as far as I can without falling over, and dash forward to generate as much momentum as I can. Then I sit down and swing back like the rush you get on a rollercoaster.
That’s a great start! Surely it’ll happen this time. Each arc of the swing I get higher and higher. The adrenaline rushes through me.
I’m almost there. I’m going to make it this time. But alas another failed attempt. I can never swing over the top.
The things we do for fun.
After every attempt I get off the swing, stand up, and move onto something else.
Behind the playground is a racquetball court. No one ever plays racquetball there. Usually it’s only me and my friends playing handball.
In my part of town, handball is a game of coordination, athleticism, and skill. The goal is to throw the ball against the wall and not get pegged after fumbling the catch. The last person out wins.
I’ve played an endless number of handball games there. Sneakers squeaking against the smooth concrete court. Sounds of the ball hitting the wall echo all around. Screams of pain when you get pegged before touching the wall.
I won many games, probably lost a lot more. But those times I won, I stood up above the rest.
My brother has another game today. I’m out of options to keep me entertained. I’ve already failed to swing over the top of the swing set. My friends aren’t here to play handball. The metal slide and monkey bars just aren’t doing it for me.
So I have a choice. I can walk around aimlessly, watch the game (barf), or I can find something else to do.
Then I spot it.
Along the perimeter of the sports complex is a white concrete wall used to separate the park from the outside world. It’s time to go on an adventure.
Climbing onto walls is no big deal. You just run towards it, jump up, grab the top edge, propel your feet against the side, and use your momentum to pull yourself up.
I’ve done it dozens, no hundreds, no, millions of times before.
So here I am, staring at the wall. Mission set.
I run towards it, grip the top with my hands, and push my feet against it. I am the king of the world, climbing the mountaintop to plant my flag.
Then darkness.
The next thing I know I open my eyes and my mom and dad are above me.
I’m not really sure what they’re saying. Or anything that’s happening really.
All I know is I’m standing up, and I will climb a million more walls.
You really captured that fearless kid energy.