I remember as a little kid, the neighbourhood playground that I used to tumble around in when pre-school was over. They were spankingly awesome.Of course more awesome than that were the cute girls that sat along the swings and bouncy animal rides. They watched as the braver boys try their hand at all the cool poles and high climbs.
And I just had to be one of those. The only problem was that my genes came with a mild defect: I was pretty darn clumsy.
So I steeled myself, and reached out for the ledge. But just as I almost got to the safe point, my hand slipped, and I found my entire 5-year-old body go tumbling down in mid-air. The fall slowed down time, and I could see some parents in the distance pointing at me, as well as here a couple of screams from the girls, whom I assumed were watching me (yes, even then I was a sucker for female attention). Finally, I went plop on the floor, and it hurt like hell.
Being the manly little boy I was, I tried not to cry, but tears were forced out of my eyes because of the pain. I got up, and grimaced, then straightened my pre-school uniform. Yes, I must not look weak in front of the girls! thought my 5-year-old self. Before my mother could stop me and ask if I was OK (she was chatting with my friend’s mum, who happened to see me fall), I went up the same climb, and did the obstacle again.
This time, I passed. And I was so gosh darn happy. I swear the all girls were cheering too, but then again I was too shy to take a look. My mum came over and brushed me down, and asked if I really fell because I looked so fine. She then spotted the bruise on my cheek, and like any other over-reacting mum, decided that I was done for the day and brought me home.