My Boogers Are Green
When I was growing up, my neighbor down the street had a trampoline. It was a raised rectangle. Metal springs pinched when we didn’t remember our boundaries and landed on them. A host of childhood accidents waited to happen, especially since we usually used the thing in the dark and jumped as high as we could to grab the thick tree limbs sprouting overhead.
Yeah. That was childhood.
I forgot how much I loved jumping on a trampoline, until I reconnected with my five-year-old friend Joshua over the weekend. I barely hugged his mother Joanna, when he ran up to me with a fetching smile and said, “Will you jump on the trampoline with me?”
He didn’t have to ask twice. I decamped to the backyard and left MTM to be the adult.
I crawled through netted zippers and negotiated bumper pads, finally finding Round Springy Heaven under blue Colorado sky. With shocking immaturity, I squealed, “I bet I can jump higher than you, Joshy.”
“No you can’t!” He shouted as he propelled himself like a rocket, while I eyed the kitchen windows and hoped Joanna wasn’t watching. Instead, awful example that I am, I joined him. We pinged higher and higher, and I remembered what it felt like to be five.
Until Joshy brought me crashing down from that high.
“And don’t do a cannonball, either, because you’re too big. You’ll break the trampoline, and Dad will have to buy another one, and it will cost a lot of money, and he will be real mad.”
Joanna is a spectacular mother. She is tireless in her efforts to imbue her children with all the things they will need to be successful adults. It’s very hard for me to keep a straight face when a child says something funny, regardless of whether that funny is deemed a Teaching Moment.
The next morning, Joshy marched into the kitchen over breakfast and announced, “Mom. My boogers are green.“
Of course, Joanna adopted a parental poker face and tried to explain that his comment was rude. And, all I could do was laugh.