I'm nearing the end of Zen & The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, the classic 1970's philosophically laden book wherein the author Robert M. Pirsig and his 11 year old son Chris venture out on a motorcycle journey across sort of the top part of the U. S. of A.Pirsig uses the adventure as a backdrop to some very profound philosophical musings. In tonight's reading, they stop at a motel and here's the scene:
We lie down on the clean beds and Chris just bounces on his for a while. Bouncing on beds, I remember from childhood, is a great depression reliever.
No -- this is NOT one of the profound philosophical moments I was referring to, above, but just the same, it got me to thinking.
I recalled how much I too, loved bouncing on beds as a kid. I would do it every chance I got. I was seriously good at it. I could get great height, land on my butt and twist and turn in the air -- I was totally Cirque du Soleil material!
What made me smile tonight was imagining if I did such a thing nowadays!
Wow!
There is no bed in the world that could sustain the impact!
I might bounce once [loud crack], twice, [springs flying, splinters of wood going through the wall] -- but for sure, by the third bounce, any normal bed would be utterly destroyed. Annihilated.
There seems to me something wrong with this.
I think it's sad that I grew up to be such a big whale!
And incidentally, Pirsig is right about his clinical assessment there -- never once when I was bouncing on beds as a kid was I ever depressed!
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You're right, bouncing on beds is so much fun! I let myself belly-flop onto the bed once in a while, but that's it nowadays. I remember jumping on my mom's bed countless times when I wasn't supposed to.
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