When I was about eleven years old my dear dad, Howie, took me to a Big Eight track and field meet at Memorial Stadium at the University of Nebraska. Of course we are talking about a men's event, back in those days before Title IX. These were the giddy days when Dick Fosbury was doing his high jump flop, and Jim McKay was "spanning the globe" for ABC's Wide World of Sports, to bring us the "thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat". We had a new phys. ed. teacher at the elementary school who thought fitness should be fun for everybody, not just for competitive jocks. My dad was at his very best then, supporting and enhancing any interest I showed. The next year Howie would be rocketed into his own carrying-for-aging-family-members phase, which I can appreciate all these years later.
But back at Oak Point I found my flopping high jump technique inadequate when I encountered fallen trees blocking the Rowlett Creek Trail in two places near the Jupiter Road outflow/beaver dam. Like the old "Going On A Bear Hunt" song, I couldn't go over it, couldn't go under it, and had to go around it--both times.
© 2014-2015 Nancy L. Ruder