My GO! Story

When I was a kid in the eighties,
I wanted my parents to buy me
one of those small trampolines.
But they wouldn’t.
We lived near the top floor
of some downtown high-rise.
I guess they figured I’d jump so high on it,
I’d fly of the flippin balcony.
But I was determined…
Every time my dad was at work,
and my mom left the house.
I’d close my bedroom door,
finish a Coke, a pack of M&M’s,
put on my football helmet,
cranked up the song GO! on my plastic record player,
and jumped up and down on the bed
— like madness had struck.
But there was method to my madness.
The helmet was on,
in case I hit my head on the ceiling.
Yes, it happened. Sometimes.
I’d often play the song three
or four times in a row.
One day, just as the music stopped,
I noticed loud kicking at the front door.
Stunned, I jumped off the bed,
opened my bedroom door,
and ran to the front door of the apartment.
It was like a hundred degrees that day.
So, I was sweating from head to toe.
The only thing I had on,
was the helmet, and shorts.
I opened the front door with a swoosh.
And standing there in the hallway,
pointing her cane at my face,
was the little old lady from downstairs.
“Great balls of fire!” she said.
“What kind of feral
monkey business is going here?”
Feeling scared and ashamed, I replied,
“Please Mam… I won’t do it again. Don’t tell my mom.”
She turned, walked away,
I closed the door,
and that was that.