Kids like to kick balls in the pavilion. They like to punt them hard up in the air. They lose a game and they lose their minds. They kick the ball. They don't think anything of it. Put their thoughts and feelings in an inflated piece of rubber and boot it all away. Nobody gets hurt.
But they're wrong. People do get hurt. They get hit in the face. The back of the head. Their water bottle sent flying. It's irresponsible and dangerous to send a projectile flying that fast in an enclosed area.
Stop kicking the balls in here. I say.
But they never listen.
To make matters worse, there are exposed light bulbs all over the rafters. A ticking time bomb of glass and gas.
Finally, it happens. Kid loses a game of Elijahball. He can't handle it. He's heard the warnings. He knows the rules. He doesn't care. Kick the ball. Kick the ball. Kick the ball. What could go wrong.
Smash! Crash!
The glass rains down in a million tiny shards.
"Everybody out." I say it loud but calm. I hate being right.
I know it's a losing battle. Give kids a bunch of rubber balls and expect them not to kick it. That's like leading a horse to water and expecting it not to drink. You can't win. You just gotta be the one who's ready to clean up the aftermath.
2 comments:
I couldn't blame the kid. A ball on the ground is temptation incarnate. A promise of power, of flight, of forgetting whatever small slight the world just dealt you. Maybe Charlie pushed you. Maybe Katie stuck her tongue out. Maybe its just too hot outside. In the end, it never matters. That ball's going into space, and it doesnt give a damn about the glass bulb standing in its way.
Ten minutes later and I'm still at it. I sweep slow. Careful. One wrong move and you miss a sliver. That sliver finds a bare foot and then you’ve got blood. Tears. Paperwork.
Yeah! Yeah! This guy gets it!!
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