Proof, or: "Oh no you don't, that trampoline is mine!"

About two and a half years ago I visited my sister Julie in Seattle, and one evening the whole family went out to jump on the trampoline. I hadn't been on a trampoline in years, but much to my delight I found I could still do all my old tricks. Whereas my twelve-year-old self could effortlessly spend hours at a time flipping around on the tramp, I unsurprisingly found that my late-twenties body lacked that same stamina and flexibility. After dismounting the tramp, I mused to my brother-in-law Lance, "How much longer do you think I'll be able do my tricks?" His answer was blunt: "Until you're thirty."

Trampolines are very dear to me - I estimate that I spent roughly 70% of my childhood on our trampoline. It was my neighborhood's default social activity and nearly every day (especially during the summer) the doorbell would ring and a gaggle of kids would ask, "Can we jump?" When we were younger we'd just bounce around, get it wet and jump, have sleep-overs on it, or play silly made-up games like 'Apple Scramble' (I can't remember the rules or the gameplay, but it involved rolling around a lot of apples that had fallen our the trees in the backyard).

As we got older it was all about tricks and daredevil feats. We would push the tramp over by the apricot tree and jump down off a branch. When that was no longer a challenge, we jumped off the top of the gazebo. Then off the deck. Then through the kitchen window. That left only one higher place - the roof. We would wait until we had at least an hour-long window of time with no grown-ups around, push the tramp over next to the house, pile up blankets and sleeping bags on the tramp to minimize unpredictable ricocheting, and go nuts. The first jump was rather bracing, but after that it was fun and the landing on the sleeping bags was like a Snuggle commercial. However, one day my mom came home earlier than expected and put an end to our roof jumping because she seemed to think that hurling our bodies off of the roof was a bad idea (go figure).*

Ever since that conversation with Lance I have felt the clock ticking on my trampoline days as I race towards thirty. A few weeks ago I was watching some old home movies of me showing off on the trampoline, but I was young enough that the best tricks I could muster were lame bounces off my back and not-quite front flips. I then panicked: what if I turned thirty and there was no video evidence that I could ever do any trampoline tricks?

So last night I went with my brother-in-law Tom and his kids over to his friend's house, who turned out to be the owner and proprietor of a trampoline. I begged Tom to indulge me and film my once-mad trampoline skillz. So I ask that you too, fair reader, kindly indulge my inner twelve-year-old for 37 seconds and enjoy my trampoline tricks clip. I ran through my repertoire of tricks for a few minutes before taking this video, and you will hear that my nearly thirty-year-old self is huffing and puffing a little as I list off the tricks as I perform them. So for clarity's sake, here's a written rundown:

1. Front flip
2. Backflip
3. Front aerial (front flip with a twist - like a cartwheel without hands)
4. Back aerial (backflip with a twist - you should land facing 180 degrees away from your starting position)
5. Another backflip



I couldn't hit the aerial or the back aerial all night, but the trampoline was on a Sport Court-type surface and it kept shifting around as I jumped, so I blame that.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself until a twelve-year-old spectator usurped my spot on the tramp and did all these physics-defying-sideways-spinning-backflip moves, putting my humble tricks into perspective. But hey, I had fun and I've now got the proof that I wanted, so I can grow old and decrepit in peace.

*Somewhere in my parents' house there is footage of us jumping off the roof, in the form of a short film my neighbors and I made called "The Fugitive 2." Made in the immediate aftermath of "The Fugitive," I starred as a man wrongly accused of killing his dog (turns out it was really the one-armed man). It all led to a standoff with the detective (my neighbor Nic) on the edge of my roof. "I didn't kill my dog!" I yelled. His obvious retort: "I don't care!" I then jumped off the roof to escape. The detective followed suit. We both hit the ground and died. The End.

The way we shot the jump was pretty tricky for a bunch of kids - we had a shot of the jump from roof-level, then we cut to a low-angle shot of me falling from the roof (with the trampoline hidden from sight), and finally we cut to me hitting the ground (from a fall of only a few feet). The same sequence of shots was then repeated for the detective character. The film was only a few minutes long and its whole raison d'être was so we could film ourselves jumping off the roof. I never labeled the tape (for fear that it would get us in trouble) and I have no idea where it's hiding now. Note to self: next time you're in Bountiful, try to find that tape.

P.S. - The subtitle of this post comes from The Simpsons:



"Oh no you don't, that trampoline is mine!" wins the title of "Brian's Most Quoted Simpsons Line" in a landslide. Only "Sure I love you baby, like I love Fresca!" even comes close.