Door #1 (The neglected)

The door had always been there. I just neglected to notice it.

I always spent a lot of time outside as a child. Quite possibly because technology wasn't nearly as engrossing then as it is now. Sure I had a Merlin, an Atari, a Simon Says, and even the original blue Alphie Robot. However, I could still spend hours with a stick batting those weird spiky balls that fell off the sweet-gum tree in the backyard on to the roof of the house. It’s kind of like the toddler who gets a nice present for Christmas and then proceeds to play with the box.

Mostly those days spent playing outside were by myself. I didn't have a lot of friends growing up. Those I did have meant a lot to me, and sometimes I probably latched on too tightly to them. When you don’t have very many friends you tend to do that. And when you have the “issues” I had you tend to be be overly possessive of the kids that will be your friend.

I also found myself to be quite the explorer. As I slowly gained freedom with age, I began to explore. The best way to explore was to wander the creeks near my house and the woods by our school. I once joined an expedition from the mouth of the creek at Bryant Road all the way to the woods at the school. While this was actually a half mile one way trip, to us it was like a through-hike on the Appalachian Trail. There was also a hunched hike down the storm drain tunnels under Bryant Road hoping that “IT” the clown wasn't waiting for us at the other end.

I was always at my best when moving, whether it be on my bike or on foot. But on foot exploring was always the preferred method. Also probably why I enjoyed exploring the town via skateboard when I got older as opposed to my Mongoose dirt bike. All my life I have been intrigued any time I see a trail. I always want to know where it leads. The pull to explore it to the other end is always there. The trail head always a “door” begging to be opened. Restless to a fault some might say.

Enough on that, let me focus on a part of that childhood where I neglected to open the door. My home town features an annual track meet for area grade and middle school kids called the Little Olympics. As of this writing it has been going on for more than 80 years. While I am not sure of the importance today, 30 years ago it was a big deal to represent your school at this event. And let me tell you I was fast as lightning and loved to run. I was so darn fast I was going to go to those Olympics and show everyone what I was made of.

Except I wasn't and I didn't…

Even though I felt fast I wasn't as fast as the other kids. I wasn't as strong as the other kids. I couldn't even muster a lousy pull-up. Never mind that the difference between success and failure could have been a few seconds attributed to my ape like physique in which my legs are too short and my arms too long. Instead of basking in the glory I was bound for the bench. I failed to make the Olympic team that day, little or otherwise. What should have been an event to lift kids up was one that tore me down. Just one more reason that I wasn't as cool as the other kids, that I didn't belong.

I enjoyed running, I really did, I wanted to tear that door open and run through it. I wanted to run until my lungs hurt and my legs could carry me no further. If only then I understood what I do now. I failed that day. I failed to make the cut and I failed to open the door. This single solitary event did not trigger what laid ahead of me for the future. However, it was an underlying tone of disappointment that I could stack with the others like a cordwood pile of disaster. I was not meant to run like the wind, instead the doors I chose led to closets where I could curl up and feel sorry for myself. They held no glory, only darkness.

To be continued…