Dodgeball

Long time, no write.

I was at a family reunion in Tahoe. In a word, it was awkward.

Our family is going through a change. We have lost my Grandfather and this is the first major event without him. We are changing. I am not a huge fan of change, especially in the throws of one of my personal biggest. Much like acne, change seems to pop up when you want it least.

I handle change with the same grace that I handled Phys. Ed. I show up in an ill-fitting uniform consumed by total dread, which I try to pathetically disguise in a willing grin. I am awkward and uncoordinated. But I dutifully go through the motions hoping nobody will laugh or call the authorities for public indecency. I can’t wait for it to end, I can’t believe I keep moving, but it is required—isn’t it?

So this week, I climbed up the endless, knotted rope (while I felt the boys glaring at my shorts). I struggled to execute a pull-up, but honestly only strained my neck and dislocated my jaw faking it. I attempted a cartwheel that looked more like a vertical somersault and tai chi salutation. I seriously hope nobody noticed.

At the point when I thought that I might die of embarrassment, I heard laughter. Not at me, but with me. There was the mutual appreciation, commiseration and even a hint of unexpected joy.

I still intend to drop the class.

But I couldn’t help but be proud afterward. I gently washed away my fears and wrapped myself in warm, thirsty pride. Because change can’t be dropping like fifth period. It can’t be avoided. It can’t be mastered. Even the basketball star has to attend the ballroom-dance portion of the semester. So eventually, we are all screwed. You gotta pat yourself on the back for not calling in sick or hiding out under the bleachers.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank my family. Because while I still hate the cut of the shorts, they always make me feel like a million bucks. And I definitely throw like a girl, but they will run a mile to catch whatever I throw at them and go so far as to flip me “What-an-arm!” thumbs-up gesture. We are all in this together. And if we are going to make it to the showers, we are going to have to come with our courage and a bench-full of support.

Yes, we are changing. And we all struggle. We all have our moments of grace and our disastrous falls. Since the obstacle course can’t be avoided, it is good to have a helpful, encouraging hand (or entire arm) throwing your cellulite butt over the wall.