There must be trampolines in heaven.

I desperately wanted a trampoline as a child. It was right up there with the newest Backstreet Boys cd, a Polly Pocket palace, and a pony. My parents denied me that joy... actually those joys... I never did see that pony. When I asked [nay, when I pleaded] my parents would simply reply with "we have a trampoline" I tried to explain to them that my mothers exercise trampoline that was two feet wide in diameter, was not the same as a trampoline for 2+ people. I played every angle: The childhood memories, the health benefits, and the popularity I could have to no avail. Instead, I was a chubby child with exactly one friend. A trampoline could have changed that...

As an adult, I take advantage of trampolines. Whenever I can, I seize the opportunity to complete the only trick I have up my sleeve: The Butt Bounce (again, thanks mom...) with a wide magnificent grin on my face, children younger than 5 will find me wickedly talented while others just point and laugh... Such is life. You can only imagine my pleasure when I find that a place exists called jump time. It is exactly how it sounds: wall to wall trampolines. They have a foam pit that sucks you in and doesn't allow you to escape no matter how hard you may pump that breast stroke. There are trampolines directly under basketball hoops which allow you to live out your dream as a member of the toon squad, and of course, they have a bouncy runway leading toward an upright trampoline which I can only assume is a runaway ramp for angry teens. So many possibilities packed into a single warehouse. 

I can only describe the full hour we paid for as joyous. Pure joy with blackened sock bottoms, sweaty bangs, and various body fat rippling with each bounce. I couldn't help but smile as I was surrounded by giggling toddlers and teenage gymnasts that made my butt bounce seem like the amateur trick it really was. To show those flipping gymnasts (pun intended) what's up, I tried to do a trick meant for intermediate to expert level jumpers. I made my way to the end of the bouncy runway, fully intending to jump feet first into the upright trampoline and land back on my feet. I bounced my feet off of the too tight trampoline, lost my footing whilst tying to land (I probably slipped on a puddle caused by my own sweat) and face planted. I got up, dusted off, and shamefully made my way to a near empty room and practiced perfecting the knee bounce.

Piecing together my dignity was low on my list of priorities. There were rowdy boys to pelt with dodge balls and bouncy houses complete with slide (intended for small toddlers) to enjoy. In the end, I put jump time down as a success, not a failure. Face planting amidst my friends and foes was a small price to pay for that many trampolines.

Bounce me to the moon,

Jessica

P.s. To my parents credit they did buy us a pool. That one friend was glad she stuck with me through the trampoline-less existence.