I remember a particular trip to McDonald's, many years ago. Space Jam had just come out at the movies, and the Happy Meal toys were themed thusly. This particular McDonald's itself was pretty cool - it had a model railway running around the restaurant, up by the ceiling.
Normally, a trip to McDonald's isn't much worth remembering 15+ years later, and to be fair, it really wasn't all that monumental. What I do remember, is why I was there: my older brother was in clown school.
Yeah, you read that right. I remember a trip to McDonald's because it's where I hung out while my older brother was in clown school. He was learning all sorts of things, juggling, balloon animals, and I was dunking chicken nuggets in ranch dressing, hoping I might get the Lola Bunny toy in my kid's meal.
But really, it began a storm of envy on my behalf. See, my older brother got really good at juggling, very quickly. I've always been rather skilled with my hands, and proud of that fact - I can knit, draw, sew, etc - but juggling seemed to be beyond me. After a few attempts at teaching me, my brother gave up on his little sister who had no rhythm, and that was that.
Several years speed by, and Space Jam was a long forgotten time in Michael Jordan's career. Now one of my younger brothers decides to learn how to juggle, mainly because he believes its a good way to pick up girls. He picks up the three little bean bags (starting fodder for any juggler in our family, they were hand-made by my mother's friend who got my older brother started on the clowning path). Green, peach, blue blur in the air - in about two hours, Matt was juggling like a pro.
I tried again, and mainly succeeded in knocking a picture off the wall with a mis-tossed ball. Again, I'm given up on, and the fact that I can't juggle to save my soul is forgotten about.
Several more years pass, and my brothers only bring out juggling as the occasional party trick. I'm still a little bitter, but resigned to my lacking in this skill.
Summer of my sophomore year of college comes around, and, though I was working 40 hours a week, I somehow found myself with a bit of free time on my hands. Looking for a challenge, I picked up the ol' bean bags, watched a couple of youtube videos, and got down to business to defeat the Huns.
I swear, Mulan climbing up that pole with Donny Osmond singing in her ears must've been easier than me learning to juggle. The first day I practiced for about 4 hours straight, and all I had to show was some sore abs. (from leaning over every two seconds to pick up the juggling balls).
Every day before work, every day after work, sometimes even at work, I practiced. Time and time again, all I could prove was that I couldn't do it. It went on like this for a couple weeks, the more times I failed, the more angrier and determined I got. Stubbornly, I kept at it.
And one day, I was able to juggle three balls for about three rotations. Actual juggling!!!! I was so excited that I wasn't able to do it again for the rest of the day, but I did it once, and that was all that mattered! After that, it came easier and easier, though it still took me about a month of essentially constant practice to achieve.
Now I juggle as rehab for a wrist injury I sustained last year, and I bring it out as a party trick occasionally. People ask me if I get bored with just three bean bags - they suggest I should try juggling more balls, or maybe clubs (knives!! flaming torches! FLAMING KNIVES!). I shake my head and smile, nope - three is enough, three was enough to prove to myself that I could achieve the impossible if I just set my mind to it, not unlike a young Michael Jordan at the beginning of Space Jam.
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