The Bouncer in the Rye

If you are ever in Denver . . .

Somewhere in or near Denver, Colorado, is my wonderful, stupendous, long-awaited, much-anticipated, beloved, toy of the century.

The one that was mine too briefly.

Sigh.

Maybe I should explain . . .

When I was growing up, my rancher father often took his family on holiday.

Said holidays usually included some form of cattle show.

Or cattle ranch visit.

Or driving down the highway slowly because someone’s herd was there.

In the field.

I know you’re wondering what this has to do with my toy.

It’s coming . . .

This particular family trip had been planned with the National Western Stock Show - annually held in Denver - in mind.

And that was okay with me.

Because said stock show also included horse classes.

And I had a new toy.

Now it comes out . . .

The Wham-o company had just released the most amazing gadget.

A solid rubber ball that would bounce higher and do more tricks than anything that had ever been invented.

Aptly named the ‘Superball’, it was a thing of beauty.

An amazing little ball of rubber that promised hours and hours of entertainment.

I had wanted one forever.

Well, since I had first seen an ad a couple of months before.

Dad had stopped at a store before heading over to the stock show.

They had them! A whole display!

I was at a store that actually had the magical little balls for sale.

And my Dad was there.

With his wallet.

The planets had aligned. The day was mine!

And so, incidentally, was my little, dark blue miracle.

I pried open the package and, for the first time, felt the cool, smooth surface of the greatest high-bouncing ball of all time.

I sat there in the truck and held it.

Staring at it.

Smelling it.

I couldn’t wait to give it a good bounce.

Dad pulled into the stock section of the fair grounds and we all got out and went into the nearest pavilion.

I found myself standing in the lane of a long, concrete-floored, stall-lined, barn of a building.

Perfect.

I lifted the hand holding the ball . . .

And smashed it down onto the pavement as hard as I could.

Wow.

All of the ads never really paid it full justice.

That little ball hit that hard surface and shot like a missile toward the ceiling.

I stared at it; eyes wide and mouth open in a foolish grin of pleasure.

Then my magical toy came down.

Down.

Finally landing somewhere in the endless mounds of straw that filled the building.

Okay, that, I never anticipated.

I searched for that ball for hours.

I’d be searching still if my Dad hadn’t dragged me away for some frivolous ‘have-to-eat-and-sleep-and-for-heaven’s-sake-it’s-only-a-ball’ reason.

My one and only Superball.

You know, the ads claimed that it would keep on bouncing, almost forever. 

The ads were wrong.