the perfect catch note: i originally wrote this (with minor differences) on monday, january 09, 2006. echoes only die if they’re not heard. imran for the moment, my most favourite number is 22. she’s been a friend of mine for some time, going back to high school. back then we went steady; now we’re dearest friends... do i confuse you? i take you back some years, to the halcyon days of school gone past... i was a weakling. and a bit of a runt. and i was sick of it. it was my final year in high school and i was sick of benchwarming. for three years thence, i was a cheerleader dressed in football pads, a second-stringer. a tackling dummy for football practice. but i wasn’t your average tackling dummy. my father was a champion athlete, a man of extraordinary ability. i was a champ too, at least in cub scouts. i did so many push-ups and sit-ups in under a minute they called me “rubber band”. but when i hit high school something happened. or rather, something didn’t happen. while other guys shot up strong and proud, and sported chin-whisker, i cowered in the locker room, anxious of my nakedness, my naked scarcity of hair in the proper places. i was behind the curve and worse, i knew it. so when it came to football, my feline grace and nimble feet mattered little. i was skin and bones, and skin and bones don’t make for good shock absorbers. i loathed the tackling drills, especially when i was up against kirk pietrantonio. he was fierce and bigger than me. if i was a tiger cub, he was a lion king, and he had a savage mane to prove it. i think that’s when i had my first mystical journey; he sure knocked the sense out of me. after my junior year, the wheel began to turn. i had chin-whisker, but i was still scrawny and the clock was running out. football season was less than a year away. i had to do something, i had to try. that winter, i carted my plastic weight set to a friend’s house, and we created a gym. we worked out every day in a tiny square room. sometimes his mom brought us lemonade. where i grew up, the winters are harsh. i well remember my lonely trudges to his house. the cold taunted me, tested me-a skinny boy who wished to be strong. at first i was awkward; the rigor and discipline was daunting. but i persisted. even after i mentally adapted, my body was slow to respond. still, i persisted. day by day by day. by day. i persisted. i persisted through the winter. i persisted into spring. and as the first buds of spring blossomed, so too did i. i got strong. muscular. more so, an inner toughness manifested, made itself known. by the time football season came round, i was ready. at five foot seven, i was still a smurf, but at least my frame was muscled. i was 145 pounds, and quick as a cat-easily the quickest guy on the team. coach even ran a drill where they’d throw a pass to me, and i’d run around till all the guys tagged me. i drove them nuts! they hated me! i’d juke, jive, stop, start, and spin all over the field-even my stumbles were elegant. it was like i was dancing. i’d run round some guys till they were breathless! i was breathless too, but i never quit; it was too much fun... for sure i was smiling! :-) coach made me wingback, a wide receiver. and on defense i was free safety. best of all, i was a starter-a first stringer. i was on the field, in the game. in the show. my ego glowed. and yet, life has a way of protecting us from ourselves if we pay attention. in my case, it had to do with my number, 22. i picked it out myself. visually, 22’s a pretty number-i liked the symmetry. i thought myself clever too... i recalled the novel “Catch-22” by joseph heller. as a receiver, i thought it’d be funny if i too were “Catch-22”. it was my hidden joke. i didn’t tell no one. funny thing is, the joke was on me. for all my feline grace, i couldn’t catch worth a damn! i was so bad, the coaches got to saying, “that imy... he’s quick, but he can’t catch!” my friends teased me incessantly. “he’s quick, but he can’t catch!” indeed, i was “Catch-22”. and so began my love affair with 22. the best friends in life are the ones who teach you, who spur you on to grow. from high school until today, 22’s been with me the whole, wide way. and our love has evolved. no more is 22 a “Catch-22”, a tiger chasing its tail. now she’s a release, a release from pain and the ironies of life. when i see 22 i pay attention, extra attention-to that around me, and that within. i feel for harmony, see the symmetry. 22’s a lovely number. i love her. she’s number 1.
Posted on: Tue, 28 Jan 2014 01:44:44 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015