When I was 12 years old, Brockbank Junior High had gymnastics as an after school activity. I had been tumbling since I was at least 4 years old, and had been on the exhibition team in 5th and 6th grade at Webster Elementary. I was excited to finally be able to learn more gymnastics.
I quickly learned that my expectations for the gymnastics team were more grandiose than my actual abilities. I had watched the Olympics Gymnastics competitions multiple times. In my mind I could see myself spinning and twisting on the apparatus and in the floor exercises.
In actual gymnastics practice, I found myself unable to mount the low bar on the uneven parallel bars. I had no experience with the dance moves associated with the floor routines. At least the vault involved running really fast, which I could do. But my teammates teased me because I ran with my chin leading the way.
The balance beam was a completely new level of tumbling. I could perform the tasks on the ground with relative ease. Doing the same task on the balance beam required a great deal of precision, and the penalties for moving too far outside of one's ability included the possibility of serious injury. Or at the very least, the inconvenience of having to climb 3 1/2 feet into the air again and re-centering oneself before continuing to perfect the skill.
I had dreamed of being recognized and praised as a result of my gymnastics ability. When I found that even the warmup exercises and skills training were beyond my ability, I was deflated. I don't know why I continued to work on the team. Probably it was just something that I had already decided to do. I was a gymnast, so I went to practice. Having other people show up every day after school was a definite factor in my decision to continue. If not for the team, I am not sure whether I would have continued.
My mom somehow came by a practice balance beam, which she brought home
for me. I could practice only inches from the ground, instead of several feet in the air. Being closer to the ground, and having it at home, made everything so much easier! The
only real issue with the practice beam was that there was no place for it in the house. So it stayed in the
driveway. It might have had a protective cloth covering on it at first. I don't remember exactly. I do remember that it was just wood by the time I was finished with it.
That my mother found, bought, and allowed the beam to remain in the driveway! of our home is a memory I treasure. It is evidence of my mother's dedication to helping me do the things I loved. She had many demands on her time, with 10 children, a toddler/preschooler with a congenital heart defect, a home, a church calling, and the hobby that would become her business. I think she knew how much it meant to have something you could do that you were good at. And when she had an opportunity to help me get better at something I was already good at, I am sure there was no question in her mind that she would help me. She never mentioned anything about the cost of the beam, b
ut in a family where there was never enough money, having that gift meant the world to me.
After 3 years of junior high, beam had become my best apparatus. I was able to place in the top 3-4 competitors at some of
the competitions. I also improved greatly in the floor exercise, which was somewhat satisfying. But I never felt I had achieved as much as I had wanted to. Decades later, even after birthing my children, I would visualize myself doing my uneven parallel bar routine. I thought I was doing that visualization because I loved gymnastics so much. And I did, of course. But thinking about it now, I realize that visualizing the routine was almost certainly a part of the training my coaches had given me to do. And not having ever achieved the success on the bars that I wanted, my mind continued the visualization. As silly as it may seem now, as a 45-year-old mother of 4, I still sort of think that I could one day do that bar routine better than I did as a 14-year-old.
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In the backyard of our home in Magna was an oversized truck tire. I used to play on it, jumping from one side to the other. I climbed the scraggly trees that grew right next to the back fence that separated our property from the Trombinos. They had a trampoline, and the girls, Jolene and her older sister, were close to my age. I wished I could play with them on it, and think I only did a handful of times in the 9 years that we lived there.
I loved being outside. Hanging laundry was one of my favorite chores, probably because it involved going outdoors. The smell of sunshine-warmed sheets became dear to me. And the way I could pretend I was in a private world when I was "hiding" between the lines of clothes was satisfying to my imagination, my need for independence, and a sense that I was making a valuable contribution to the family.
My mom knew I loved being outside. When she planted a large patch of tomatoes one year, in the sizeable flower bed by the front door, I would wiggle in underneath the leaves of the tall plants and pick off the tomato worms that were always present there. I remember distinctly, one time, an incredible number of them! I had filled the container I had brought with me, and had to recapture some worms that were escaping before I had completed the task!
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I would walk and explore the neighborhood. Webster Elementary School was a nearly straight line down the hill from my home. 2 1/2 blocks or so, from 3100-ish South to 2900 South. And then a block or so to the west and that was my daily commute.
Sometimes on the way home from school I would walk by the irrigation ditch that bordered the fences of Kennecott Copper. I remember being warned not to play in the ditch, because water could flow unexpectedly down it at any moment. But I did -- a few times anyway -- feel brave enough to go down into it. I would run at an angle along the sloped walls, winding from one side of the ditch to the other. Such a simple activity, and yet so satisfying.
I wished I could have played soccer with the boys during recess at Webster Elementary. I didn't know how to play soccer. I didn't know how to tell the boys I wanted to play. I didn't know how to ask for someone to teach me to play. So it stayed a private wish until I advanced from junior high to high school. Cyprus did not have a gymnastics team, and I didn't even ask my parents about doing gymnastics elsewhere. I joined the soccer team because it was the sport that needed people, even if they had zero experience like I had.
I tried to find friends who lived nearby. I would knock on the neighbors' doors, looking for a friend to play with me. That only worked 2 or 3 times. I never understood, and still do not understand, why the children my age, who lived nearly next door, would not come play with me. I did spend a time or two in one girl's home -- her name was Trina, and we played barbies. Maybe I was the one who was not comfortable there? That is probably right. I may have thought that I was being a bother to the parents, so the wish to play stayed in my mind and I only rarely would ask if Trina and I could play.
As I got older and more familiar with the neighborhood, I would walk farther. I came to love the way the sky looks when a storm approaches. And the feeling of being sheltered among tall trees, even if it was a neighborhood with paved roads only a block or two from a main thoroughfare. No one came to Magna unless they lived there. The neighborhoods where I walked were mostly quiet, deeply shaded, and had a somewhat rural feeling. There were old, established homes with well-cared-for lawns and gardens. And there were other homes, apartments, or trailers, that were less-well-cared-for.
Sometimes a dog would bark at me, or worse, chase me. I had been afraid of dogs for a long time. There was one little yapper that lived on the corner of our street. Every time I came near the fence of that home, it would bark incessantly until I was well out of earshot. On another occasion, as I was riding my bike, a dog zoomed out of its yard and bit my ankle! I made sure to keep both ankles on the side of the bike away from the dog when I dared to venture back that way again.
