Just before The Banjo and Donut Marching Society meeting, Dear Old Dad walked into the office and spotted me groaning with a cold soda on my cheek.
“You’ve been juggling again!”
Now, this was offensive on multiple levels. First, just assuming that any injury was juggling related and second, he said it like somebody on one of those intervention televisions shows.
Tonight on a very special ClownTervention:
Christina: “Bobo, you said you were getting things together. No more clown shoes. No more unicycles. No more juggling. Then I come home and you had the salt and pepper shaker up in the air with a tomato all twirling and #@%$! You’ve been juggling again!”
Bobo: Sad honk
Christina: “Oh, Bobo…”
It was also upsetting because he was right. I was juggling again.
I have dyscalculia. My spatial relationships are a mess so juggling for me is like a sloth trying to drive NASCAR. No amount of desire can offset the fact that I simply cannot catch a ball. Every attempt at playing catch with my dad as a kid ended up with me getting beaned.
I am a musician, author, teacher, photographer, baker, martial artist and a bunch of other things. What I am not is a juggler – but that won’t stop me from trying.
So, what happened last night?
Well I was juggling. I dropped a ball. When I bent over to pick it up I did not put my banjo in a stand like a rational adult human being. Instead, I held onto it. When I bent over to pick up the ball, I rested the banjo pot on an office chair – but I leaned on it a bit because my broken foot was sore, As I picked up the ball, the chair turned and the banjo pot caught me square on the cheek
Thankfully, the banjo was unharmed.
It is okay to love something and be terrible at it. Nobody is perfect on the first attempt. Learning is a growing process. Some folks might juggle in a day or two but never master an instrument like the banjo. We all grow at our own pace.
And no, I won’t give up trying to juggle.