Balls a-Flying

Almost four years ago, during my college years, I tried my hand at juggling with damaging failure. Eventually, I got tired of picking up balls from the grass, and so I cursed gravity and dropped the hobby instead.

Nearly four years later, this past June, the night before the first group of us teachers left Iraq for good, Tom put his juggling balls in my care. Oh the irony. What possessed me to keep them remains mysterious...perhaps something akin to nostalgia...but I kept them.

Then one day, about a month ago, I picked them up from their dust-gathering place in the bricked corner of my Freak Tent room in Philly, and I started juggling again. First one ball, then two, then I tried my hand at three.

I was as atrocious as ever, but this time I was a more perceptive learner. I learned how to throw, how not to throw, and most importantly, I paced myself. When I made it to 3 tosses in a row, then to 5, I congratulated myself and set a new goal of 6. A couple weeks passed in this fashion, my record number of tosses in a row never exceeding 8.

Then, sometime last week I hit the double digits- a record 12 tosses in a row! A couple days ago, when I hit a major stride and made it all the way to my age (25), I nearly choked my roomie Melissa with my exuberant hugging.

Today, I reached another important landmark, 42. I juggled the answer to the universal question! (The question itself remains mysterious.) I nearly crushed Sarah with my exuberant pummeling. Juggling turns me violent, it would seem.