Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy

Yeah, that title was for the search engines, but the story is for you. I know how you enjoy public humiliation stories.

When my oldest daughter was three we would stop by a local Chinese restaurant to have lunch with my mom. We did this every week and we all looked forward to it. My oldest also looked forward to the bouncy ball machine on the way out. Each week she would get a quarter from Grandma and hope for a red ball. Each week she would get every other color but red.

She was so good about it. She never whined or cried. She would say, “I’ll get one next time.” I was very impressed with her patience and optimism. Each week I hoped she’d get a red one.

Then one week it happened. She put her quarter in the slot and turned the dial. The look of joy on her face told the story before I even spied the little red ball in her grasp. She held it up as if she had just won the gold Olympic medal and proudly showed it to everyone in the restaurant. At this point, I had no idea this ball would lead to my bloody downfall.

We started to walk to our car when it happened. The red ball broke it way free from her tiny hands and started bouncing across the parking lot. In shock, I stood and looked at it for a second. Then I realized it was swiftly bouncing it way to the storm drain. This is when my super-powers kicked in.

I tossed the baby I was carrying to my mom and took off with super-human speed toward the wayward ball. There was only one thought in my mind and that was “There is no way in Hell that ball is going down the drain!”

Time seemed to stop. The world shrunk to me, a red ball, and the gaping mouth of a hungry storm drain. The ball was bouncing closer and closer to its demise, but I was closing in. It was just out of my reach when my progress was abruptly halted by a pothole; a fairly deep one at that.

My foot went in the hole and stopped. The rest of me kept on going until it hit the asphalt. It took a few seconds to figure out what had happened and get back up. My elbow and knees were scrapped and my ankle didn’t feel so good. At this point it didn’t bother me. I was more worried about the lost ball.

My daughter walked over to the storm drain, about to have the temper tantrum of her life, when she suddenly reached down and came running back. The ball had stopped about three inches from the opening. I was so happy until I realized I was bleeding. I was deciding if I was going to cry or yell when my youngest decided to yell for me. “Mommy BOOM!” We all started to laugh. It was the better option.

So my daughter finally got her red bouncy ball. The lunch crowd at the Chinese restaurant got some entertainment. And somehow, I got all the credit for saving the ball. When my daughter told the story, I bounced so hard on the ground it made the ball stop rolling. It’s great to be a hero.