Gymnastics Meet

Any resemblance to the truth is entirely accidental.

Tom and I became buddies back in the 7th grade. We might have first met through the wrestling team, where he wrestled in the lightest weight classes. It might just as easily have been through orchestra or the baseball team. We tried all the sports back in those days. Tom was good at all of them. He was easily the most gifted athlete I’d ever known.

I remember Tom telling me that he began his gymnastics training back in elementary school. I think his parents had a connection to a teacher who was a former gymnast. He recognized Tom’s talent early on and began training him with the blessing of his parents. Tom did all the normal sports the rest of us were doing, but somehow slipped in his gymnastics workouts in addition to everything else. The junior high school did not have a gymnastics team, but the high school did.

When Tom reached high school he cut all the other sports out of his schedule except gymnastics. Well, that is mostly true. During his senior year he ran cross country with me and was able to make it into the top 7 which comprised the varsity. There were probably only 14 guys on the entire team. I remember Tom’s folks saying it was one of the proudest athletic accomplishments in his life because it was the only sport he wasn’t naturally good at. This pleased me immensely because it was also the only sport I could thoroughly kick his butt in.

Anyway, all of this is a prelude to say that I would from time to time go to the high school gymnastics meets to watch Tom compete. It wasn’t a ball sport, so attendance was always light. The only people who showed up were family and close friends. The gymnasium was quite large and would easily accommodate a couple thousand in the stands. For a gymnastics meet there might be 50 people in the stands.

At the gymnastics meets only one event was conducted at a time, and only one athlete performed at a time. In a dual meet each team would enter a couple of scoring competitors in each event and maybe one or two who performed in exhibition. Tom was a state contender in his very first year, competed in every event, and was probably a multiple state champion.

There was absolutely no noise at the meets while an athlete was performing. It was as quiet as a church during silent prayer. Between events the spectators might speak in low voices or whisper, but during the competition there was no noise at all and nobody moved. Latecomers stood in the hallway waiting for an athlete to finish his routine before slipping not too quietly into the stands while everyone stared at them for the racket they were making.

There was this one meet against our cross-town archrivals, Jefferson High School, that I particularly remember. Jefferson had a kid who on a good day could give Tom some trouble, so it was a big meet for Tom. It would give Tom an idea of where he stood going into the state meet.

I remember this one meet well because I brought my dad along. Tom and I had spent a good deal of time at each other’s houses, so Dad had gotten to know Tom pretty well. I’d told Dad about some of the incredible moves that Tom was able to perform in each of the events, and Dad wanted to see it. Dad was a fan of all sports.

The crowd was a little bit bigger at this meet because the two teams were the best in the state and arguably had the two best high school gymnasts in the state, Tom being one of them.

The event I remember especially well was the first event, the high bar. The spectators were a knowledgeable group, and were as quiet for each performance as golf spectators are for a Tiger Woods putt. We couldn’t even shift our weight in the bleachers from one butt cheek to the other in fear that the bleachers might make a slight creaking sound and distract the competitor.

So as Tom approached the high bar in silence to begin his routine, suddenly this man sitting next to me makes a megaphone out of his hands and starts shouting, “C’MON TOM, YOU CAN DO IT, SHOW EM HOW ITS DONE, TOM.” At that point every person in the gymnasium snapped their heads around to stare at the man sitting next to me, my father. (Richard/Dick) I wanted to DIE. I imagined every one of them thinking, “Who is that mad man?” I’d had the same thought many times.

You would think that a grown man in a new environment might be cautious and observant. You would think that he might watch the local customs and do likewise. You would think that when in Rome the man would do what the Romans do. Not my dad.

I kept my eyes focused straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge what had just happened. I didn’t want anyone in the room to know I was related to the old man (53 at that time, 5 years younger than I am now) sitting next to me. If I could have made myself smaller, I would have. If I could have slipped beneath the bleachers out of sight, that would have even been better. Tom didn’t let it bother him; he jumped up to grab a hold of the high bar with both hands and began his routine.

Dad continued to shout his commentary throughout the entire routine. “WAY TO GO TOM! EXCELLENT! BE TOUGH! HANG IN THERE. YEAH! WOW, GREAT MOVE, TOM!” Dad continued to yell encouragement as if it were a football game or a wrestling meet. Eventually a couple of other parents jumped in and started yelling and clapping along with my dad. I imagined my classmates dying the same death I was experiencing, death of embarrassment by parent. I wondered if they would blame me for my father leading their parents astray. I wondered if there was a Parents Union rule that if one parent did something totally wrong the others were required to jump in and do the same to make it appear normal.

Tom’s high bar routine, and my shame, seemed to last an eternity. They should have a Richter scale for moments like that. I don’t remember the ending of Tom’s routine or the end result. I was busy imagining myself in a quiet forest, all alone, where nobody knew me or the fact that I had a father. No doubt everyone stood up and applauded enthusiastically, perhaps even louder than normal given my father’s unusual form of leadership.

When the meet was over I felt obligated to apologize to Tom for my father’s social blunder. When I was done apologizing Tom said, “No, no, it was great, really. The silence at meets always makes me nervous. It was good having a steady stream of noise to relieve the tension. It didn’t bother me a bit. I need to thank your dad for coming.”

Ridiculous and unbygodbelievable! Not only was my dad NOT wrong by my friend’s assessment, my dad was almost, if not actually, cool. I hate it when that happens!

My life is a never-ending series of surprises.