When I was King

One of the bestest present I ever received from my parents was a tetherball pole. After we lost interest in baseball and kick-the-can, Dad dug a huge hole in the middle of the yard and cemented us a pole. Tethered to that pole was a ball, a hard one, similar to a soccer ball, smaller than a basketball, and it was strung on a strand of rope meant to wrap and wrap and wrap itself around the pole.

Hence the winner of the game of tetherball.

When I was a little girl attending John Robson Elementary School in New Westminster, this was the recess fodder. And I remember standing in circle,
minutes and minutes, waiting for my time to enter the circle of tether. Once I got there, I was defeated immediately by the older girls, the ones who always won and knew how to wrap the rope around the pole at it's highest peak, far from my reach. Then the bell ran.

Day after day I would run to the circle in hopes of hitting the ball, just once. One girl actually gave me a chance and let me catch the ball and with a huge breath I swung my arm around, my muscles burning, I heaved and let the ball go. It flew over her head....just once, then she caught it on it's next flight around, and that was the last time I ever touched the tetherball at John Robson Elementary School.

My sister and I practiced night after night, day after day, playing this damned ball around the pole. We sprained our fingers, fought over fairness, we had friends over to play over and over again, we never stopped playing tetherball. It was greater than hockey.

At junior high I became known as one of the best players. I knew how to wrap the rope as high as it could get, tightening the ball at it's crown, an immediate defeat, unless I gave 'chancies'. By now I am tired of playing this childish game, need to go for a smoke, and I let the little kid win.

Sabrina and her friends played tetherball at the park tonight. She came home covered in blood, her legs and arms covered in blood and what the Hell!

Her friend was riding the ball, as it made it's journey around the pole, around and around and around until her finger got caught in the rope and sliced it clear off.

One of the kids found her finger tip, another found her fingernail that popped off.

And I don't feel sorry for this girl....why? Sabrina had to carry her home on her back as she was near fainting. Why do I feel angry instead?

Deep down I know why....this was my childhood game, the one I conquered and defeated and had hopes of my own daughter having memories of her dad digging a cement hole in our yard. Instead, she is left with this vision of finger mutilation ... I hate this decade. I hate the kids of today, their technology, and not knowing how to respect the aged games.