Sweat drips down my face. Black smudges on my hands. Dirt stains on my knees. I grunt as I push one pole into another. I grimace as I tighten a nut on a screw. I curse the confusing and poorly written instructions. This is a dance I’m well acquainted with. A game I’ve played too many times. I’m building a trampoline. Building another trampoline. My fourth trampoline, to be exact.
“What do you need?” my wife Katie asks patiently. She knows this game as well. Knows me too. Knows there is nothing I need other than not to be building my fourth trampoline.
“I don’t know,” I say. I know my voice is snappy even though I don’t want it to be snappy. Building trampolines does that to a person. Does it to me, anyway.
My fourth time building a trampoline happened on a Monday night in July. Iowa City was humid. The neighborhood was buzzing. Neighbors out for walks. Neighbors grilling dinner. Neighbors lounging on decks. And then there was me. A builder of trampolines. Out in the backyard until 9:00. Trying to finish the job as the sky grew dark. We put the net around the structure as the sun went down.
I went inside and collapsed on the couch. A builder of trampolines.
***
Our first trampoline was durable. We bought it at the height of the pandemic. It would have lasted a lifetime. Maybe multiple lifetimes. But then we moved away from Pennsylvania. Decided not to disassemble and reassemble that trampoline. Because disassembling and reassembling trampolines is unpleasant. We listed that first trampoline on Facebook marketplace. A kind family came over, took it apart, and drove away with it. My son Solomon wept. He loved that trampoline. Loves trampolines. How many times can I write the word trampoline in this blog?
Our second trampoline was short lived. It arrived from Amazon a few weeks after we moved into our house in Iowa City. Solomon and Samson were going through withdrawal. Well, mostly Solomon. He needs an outlet for his frenetic energy. Thus, his love affair with trampolines. I was a sweaty mess after building that second trampoline. The wind was never strong enough to damage our trampoline in Pennsylvania. But we live on a hill in Iowa City. And the wind gets gusty here. You know where this is going. A Midwestern thunderstorm came through. It picked the trampoline up and body slammed it into a tree. The supporting polls were shattered. My son Solomon wept and I ordered another trampoline.
Our third trampoline lasted a little longer. I purchased fasteners to secure it safely to the earth. It was fixed in place. Maybe too much so. That third trampoline lasted a little under two years. A few weeks ago, we noticed it was leaning to the side. I investigated. One of the supporting polls had rusted and, given the slope of our yard, the pressure eventually snapped it in two. And then another storm came through and finished the job. That storm took the poor girl behind the shed and put her down. Or poor boy. Who am I to gender my trampoline? My son Solomon wept and I ordered another trampoline.
Our fourth trampoline arrived last week. I knew what I was facing. Dragged the enormous box into the backyard and went to work. Built a trampoline. Katie helped. We secured it to the ground when it was over. Said a prayer over the contraption, begging the universe not to send another storm. If only my trampoline, like Jesus, could walk on water. We will see. I’m not building a fifth. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. I swear I’m not.
***
Trampolines are expensive! And I’m not a rich man. And yet here we are. Why do I keep buying them? Why do I keep building them?
I mentioned that Solomon needs outlets for his frenetic energy. Well, he does. And bouncing helps.
Incidentally, I have no idea where Solomon gets his frenetic energy from. Not from a father who can’t sit still, who obsessively writes these blogs, and is overcome with gentle anxiety as July spills into August. Isn’t me. Couldn’t be. Who took the cookie from the cookie jar?
I took that cookie. And I passed it along to my son. And so there’s enough frenetic energy in the Tanner household to electrocute a small nation. The small fortune I’ve paid to trampoline companies across the world is a reasonable price to pay to channel some of Solomon’s energy out of the house and into the sky.
Still, a person has limits. A checkbook too. I can’t buy another trampoline. I won’t. I won’t, won’t, won’t. You can not make me Sam I am. Not on a mouse and not behind a house (in Iowa City).
Dear reader, if you’ve never assembled a trampoline, you’re better for it. Send hopeful thoughts and prayers that I will never, ever, ever have to assemble another one again. Amen.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 