Finding Fruit in Wiffle Ball Failings
Football, rugby, soccer, mixed martial arts, hockey — these sports appear most often on lists of “the most dangerous sports” for kids. Cheerleading makes some lists, depending on whether the author of said list classifies it as a sport or an activity. For my money, a fair amount of which has been spent on competitive and school cheerleading, it is a sport. And, as a sport, it is comparatively dangerous. My daughter scored three concussions by the time her cheer career ended.
Here's a not-so-dangerous sport… wiffle ball. Wiffle ball provides a safer alternative to softball or baseball in school PE. Wiffle balls can’t be thrown as hard, and they don’t hit as hard. This game is fairly “friendly” to the athletically challenged, and it can be played in a gym or on an auditorium stage, which is where my class was playing one fall day during my 8th-grade year.
I was at bat, experiencing painful anxiety, I am sure. I hated sports, because I am without a morsel of athletic ability. Plus, if memory serves me correctly, I was in the middle of a girl spat with my three besties; I was the odd man out. And, let’s just pretend I was on my period for good measure.
I don’t recall what the count was; I probably didn’t know at the time. But, when I swung at one of the pitches — the last one that came my way that day — my knee cap popped out. This was the first time of many knee malfunctions that would happen over the years. From out of the blue, walking, strutting, perhaps even looking cute, and my knee would randomly pop out, throwing me down in a most awkward and ungraceful way.
Sidelined and Story Sidetracked:
My trick knee popped out once when I was pregnant with my son. He stayed in, but I often wonder if the jolt from the inevitable following fall caused him to time travel while in utero. He was born an old soul.
This initial pop, though, was brought on by the twist at my waist as I swung the bat. The sliding of kneecap from its proper base caused it to collide with my femur bone, and a quarter-sized chunk of the femur bone broke off. I won’t share the details of my visit to the school nurse. If you attended school during the “big hair” days, you may remember that they weren’t as warm and sensitive as they are today.
Within a day or so, I was at St. John’s Mercy Hospital in St. Louis. Surgeons placed a screw that would secure the quarter chunk back to the femur while it healed for three months before being removed. I had a five-day stay at the hospital.
And, that’s where I met “N”.
N was my roommate for the duration of my stay. Not there for a tonsillectomy or a surgery like mine, N was hospitalized for an issue that was totally unfamiliar and strange to me. N was there for what they called “manic depression.” She was a bit younger than I, but I enjoyed her company. I remember times when she seemed withdrawn and sad; other times, she seemed happy and excited, sometimes scaring me as she pushed me, wheelchair bound, through hospital hallways. After my discharge, we exchanged letters briefly but lost contact. I have often wondered what happened to her.
Mental illness did not have the attention it does today. N had what we now know as Bipolar Disorder. N made a huge impression on me. I felt empathy for her, though I had no understanding of what she was experiencing or why she was feeling the way she did. I wanted to understand her. By high school, I had decided that I wanted to be a Clinical Psychologist.
Voices about low pay in the field of psychology or endless years or school got my attention, and I changed course. I completed a Business Degree during undergraduate school, a teaching certificate after I married, and, eventually, a Master’s Degree in School Counseling. I worked my way back to my early interest.
N sparked an interest in me, and I have never forgotten her. My time with her was impactful. It changed me. Did God plan that injury for me on that day, so that I would meet N and develop a love for psychology and for understanding how people think and relate to one another?
Maybe. Likely. I’m sure of it.
Questions:
• Do you remember a life-changing moment from your childhood or teen years? How did that event or experience shape the person you are today?
• Have you been aware of those meaningful moments in the lives of your children? If so, how did you process and solidify those growth opportunities for them?
A book to check out…
Full disclosure, I have not completed this book yet. I am about 25% in, and Hold On To Hope, like my friend N, has gotten my attention. Nichole Marbach writes about her struggles with Bipolar Disorder and her journey toward healing in her 2018 Memoir.
Blessings,
Hally
