Growing up there was a girl in my grade that lived up the street from us who had the same first name as me. Early on we had come to the conclusion that we were destined to be friends due to the fact that we shared a name. Anyway, she and I both had big brothers that were around the same age. And they were problems for us. Always picking and teasing and taunting. They were not cool. At all.

One time, me and my friend were waiting our turn to jump on our trampoline. We were waiting because our older brothers were already on the trampoline. That in itself wasn’t the real problem. The problem was that our older brothers were much bigger than we were and we couldn’t get on while they were up there. Not like we had some rule that we couldn’t get on while they were on it. Like we actually could not get on. They were mean and selfish. And big. Really big. Way bigger than us. We would attempt to climb on. And they would jump really close to the edge and push us back down. We would cry and scream and kick and swat at them. No good. It was hopeless. We told my parents they wouldn’t let us have a turn, and mom did the old standard “holler from the kitchen window” routine. Which is totally ineffective, by the way. So we waited for almost an hour, literally. And in kid time, it may as well have been three days. We were DYING to jump.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a loud thud and popping noises. We watched in complete horror as the trampoline bottomed out and springs went everywhere. It was epic. And infuriating. Needless to say, they were in big trouble. But being in trouble and getting punished don’t always go hand in hand. Apparently, bottoming out on a trampoline from mid-air hurts. We wouldn’t know because we didn’t get to experience that. But they were pretty sore. And that was justice enough for us.