The reason the boys were ready for me when I pulled up in the big van was what they held in their hands.
“We found these!” Saber unfolded his palm to show me a rubber ball on an elastic band.
I’ve seen plenty of rubber balls. I launched a jaded smile, and then he threw the ball down. It bounced high over the building roof with the elastic band unfurling into the blue sky before rebounding and then caroming again. This little contraption had more energy than a litter of hungry puppies when mama pokes her head into their view.
The boys had finished a week at church camp, and I was bringing home a gaggle of eleven-year-olds. Assuming a gaggle is seven. A well-entertained gaggle of giggly boys.
Each of the boys launched a ball above timberline, filling the air with giggles.
I could see the potential here.
“OK, guys. No bouncing the balls in the van.”
They all nodded, and their arms went into hyperdrive to exhaust the rebounds before they loaded. No tree top was safe in the flurry of rubber spheres.
Finally, we loaded up and pulled away from camp, making our way down the mountain. All was well until I pulled up at a stoplight in a little town partway home.
Traffic was heavy, and I had been watching cars surround us, pressing close in the rush hour. Then I noticed snickering from behind me. High-pitched joyful laughter. Monkey laughter. Or a gaggle of boys giggling.
Saber had worked his arm out of the side window, holding onto the elastic band. And he was bouncing the ball on the street.
The bouncing orb careened between stopped vehicles, skimming over the edge of side mirrors and radio antennas. It soared with abandon above SUVs and smart cars, ricocheting from curb to curb, defying gravity with its joyous leaps.
That ball was having as much fun as Saber. If it had a mouth, it would have been emitting monkey giggles.
Saber heard the growl coming from the driver of the van. Me. Growling.
It took him a minute to retrieve the ball after I threatened to dunk him in the lake if he didn’t get the contraption back inside. Reeling in the saggy strap took a little while as though it didn’t want to return to the dull confines of the van. Maybe a little like Saber.
Then he rolled up the gadget and stuffed it in his backpack, giving me a smile fit more for angels than gaggles of boys. His bounding ball had kissed the clouds that day. He had explored wild freedom with a blue sphere.
And he reminded me: “I didn’t bounce it in the van.”
