For most of my childhood, I thought my best friend Christina walked on water. She was two years older than me, smoked cigarettes, shoplifted, and her Dad was the pink Power Ranger's lawyer (WHAT). I was constantly begging her to let us hang out in her backyard, despite her rebellious attempts to stay away from her parents.
But you must understand. Well, being a child of wealth, that bitch's backyard had everything. A full swingset, a zipline that went all across her yard (WHAT), a stream full of herring and adventure, and...oh yes.
A big trampoline.
She couldn't have cared less about it, but I was obsessed. So when I awoke the morning of my 10th birthday and found one sitting in my own backyard, I nearly died of excitement. I vaguely remember jumping and yelling at my bemused mother that it was the best day of my life. I was a non-materialistic kid, obviously.
I loved that death trap. I had my birthday party on it, and spent the whole summer jumping around on it, blasting the Motown soundtrack (don't hate) and narrowly missing trees with spastic backflips gone awry.
We did, unfortunately, move the year after, leaving the trampoline behind. But I'll never forget how it kept my neighborhood friends and I occupied all summer, making up our own dance routines and risking broken bone while our parents were at work.
Risky debauchery while your parents are out of the house? Oh yeah. That's what being a kid is all about.
