Remember those things? Clackers? I guess they had all kinds of names over the years. I was reminded of those little handles with two balls on strings that the athlete spins in opposing directions by subtly moving the arm up and down on a Larry The Cable Guy special this morning. I thought I was getting pretty darned good at it. I was probably twelve or thirteen years old and I thought that maybe I had finally found my sport. Baseball was never my strong suit. My eyesight was too poor and the idea of a small, hard ball whizzing right past my head, if I was lucky, was just too intimidating. Football was far too complicated with all those plays and plans and signals. Basketball required some degree of skill and coordination and I had neither.
With the Eskimo yo yo, though, you really didn't have to practice like you would with a regular yo yo. It seemed perfectly suited for my sports sensibilities and ambitions.
Shortly into my new hobby I was home alone, mindlessly clacking, when wham! The two rubber spheres collided, bouncing one of them into my own sphere down there. I collapsed into a heap on the floor, unable to scream.
Well, now, I never replaced that pastime. I do love bowling shoes but I sense danger.
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