The Ancient Art Of Yo-Yo

*Due to the insensitive nature of my previous post, I have decided to replace my 50th post with something more... appropriate. Contact me if you would like to read the last one again, or if you would like to consider it for the Pulitzer.*

I can remember it like it was yesterday. It was the 90s. I had a bowl cut and wore corduroys. I was in the sixth grade. And I have to say, Administrators at Sacajawea Middle School must have been smoking some "confiscated paraphernalia" they found in the parking lot that day. And by "confiscated" I mean stolen. And by "paraphernalia" I mean Sloppy Joe mix. They must have been "high on life" or something. And by "high" I mean high. And by "life" I mean drugs. This had to be the case, because for some unfathomable reason they invited a PROFESSIONAL YO-YOer  to perform for a school full of children with the attention spans of handicapped gnats.

                                                             This was my first one.

We sat wide-eyed, enamored with the polished and flashy presentation. The Yo-Yo guy was a first class salesman. He made it look easy. "Here's how you walk the dog!" he would say as his little Duncan Flyer bounced happily in front of him. "It really looks like a dog!" we would say, ribbing our neighbors. While screams and sighs of childish ecstasy rose from the assembly, teachers took it upon themselves to shush us. Really now?! You can't invite the Pope to visit, and expect the congregation not to heave babies at him. But this man wasn't the Pope. He was God. For after the bush-league tricks, he unleashed the big guns. "Re-entry!!!! Around the World!!!" At this point the teachers could stop shushing. We were dumbfounded.

He would throw his Yo-Yo in front of him, almost haphazardly, and it would shoot back into his hand, the perfect Re-entry. He would follow up with swinging the little disc in a huge vertical arc all the way around him, only to shoot back into his hand, the perfect Around the World. We were leaning so far forward on our seats, he had us drooling in the girls' perms in front of us. We were more excited and concentrated than ever before when he nonchalantly left his Yo-Yo at the bottom of the string. Spinning. It was The Sleeper. He could have asked us to sign contracts in our own blood at this point to get our hands on some Yo-Yos, but he wasn't finished. They were the coolest new invention. They were the coolest thing in the universe. It was too bad our parents never had anything this cool.

Then he drew a second Yo-Yo from his pocket. "NO! You'll destroy us all!" we begged, cowering with worry. "Yes" he said quietly. Then he smirked and started in on his prize winning routine. With both Yo-Yos flying around him he looked like a human molecule. My little bull cut flapped in the typhoon wind of his awesomeness.  Little Cody Wanner, a fellow sixth-grader, peed and fainted. This man razzled. He dazzled. He was a Genie-Wizard. And we were his devoted zealots. His routine was the epitome of perfection. So was his salesmanship, for at this moment he performed inception without all the confusing dialogue and planted an idea in our heads. He simply said, "Who wants a YO-YO!" It was not a question. It was a demand. And like a stupefied zombie mob we all chanted in chorus "I DO! I DO! I DO!" At this, we looked at our neighbors-turned-enemies: "You don't want one as much as I do." We turned on each other, biting and scratching, until over the throng rose our Deliverer's voice: "Children, I have one for each of you."

                                                         Soon I graduated to this one

Once we had made it through the passive-aggressive line we started to "practice." This consisted of flaying the Yo-Yos in every direction, hoping that they would come back to us as they had for him. The teachers called for order and began to confiscate (as they have been known to do) but they couldn't stop our overwhelming desire. It was pandemonium. Hundreds of pieces of colored plastic turned into tiny projectiles. Easily retrieved projectiles. We tried over and over to perform Re-entry, much to the dismay of each other. Noses were bloodied. Eyes once full of wonder now began to blacken. In a matter of moments we lay in large heaps bleeding and crying on the floor. Until someone yelled over the moans, "I did it!"

Eventually through the original social networking, also known as "talking," we all soon found out how to Walk the Dog, and Re-enter at our leisure. But like all things trendy, this fad faded. Still though, those were good times. Damn good times. And to this day, ask me to perform Around the World and I can still do it for you. Just make sure to wear a helmet.

PS- I wish this this guy had come to my school.

[Keep following, who knows what I'll come up with next?]