Ultimate Hot Potato Footbee
Materials: Small, half-deflated football (the potato); larger less-deflated football (foot); frisbee (bee) = Hot Potato Footbee
Objective: Catch everything. Drop nothing. Say "fuck" a lot.
Directions: Get some friends, put space between you, toss the shit to each other. Not literal shit-- the materials (see above). Add a gazillion tiny, spiky pine cones to the ground before you start. Great for traction. Or pain.
Was I the only one barefoot? Itʻs possible I was the only one dedicated enough to eschew kalipa.
It might have been the best fun I had all weekend, playing with those girls. It doesnʻt have to be girls, though itʻs required that my playmates be committed to the game. I hate when people half-ass it. You no have to dive for the ball, right, but make a fucking effort. Run. Jump. Hustle.
I love hearing "Kanani!" "Aunty Kanani!" "ʻAnakē Kanani!" I love hearing laughter and cheering and encouraging words. I even like smack talk if it isnʻt asshole-ish (but sometimes a little asshole-ish can be fun, too).
I love the physicality. The running, jumping, hustling, diving (ever seen me dive AND fucking catch the ball? I DO. I HAVE. Itʻs beautiful.), and keeping track of multiple objects and people at the same time. So. Much. Fun. I love the aching muscles, the rapid breathing, the feeling of a well-thrown ball thumping against my chest. Itʻs fucking exhilarating! A rush! So many good feels.
I love the camaraderie. These girls. These strong, funny girls who would rather be throwing a ball or body surfing than sitting in a chair, staring at a phone.
I love the immediacy. Only right now exists when you hear your name being yelled by two people and a football and frisbee come flying at you from two different directions. All there is is this moment. and we are connected in that moment. There is a relationship between thrower and catcher, and it happens over and over again each time an object is thrown (see camaraderie above).
I love the skill involved. It was windy and to get an object to Poli or Hiʻi or Noe, I had to throw against the wind. How hard to throw the ball? How should I toss the frisbee? In which direction? Should I just chuck the potato underhanded? Where will I intersect with the frisbee? How high do I need to jump to catch the ball? Holy shit, the ballʻs gonna hit that stranger in the back! Knock it down, no even bother trying to catch it!
How could I have forgotten just how much I love to move?
I love to read and write. I love doing crossword puzzles.
But Iʻve also been walking for transportation, exercise, and fun for all my life. Iʻve loved dancing since I can remember (I donʻt know how many times Iʻve heard Kafrinʻs embarrassing retelling of how I would bossily choreograph songs in our carport). I grew up throwing, catching, whacking and bouncing balls. I broke my wrist in the fifth grade roller skating. I taught myself how to ride a two-wheel bike. I took swimming lessons for most of my childhood.
Yes, I was never much of an athlete. I didnʻt do organized sportsing like my siblings. I was mediocre at best at a lot of shit. Itʻs horrible what shame can do.
How could I have ever forgotten that I love being active? Dirty feet tell me Iʻve been playing well, and right now, my feet are all buss from walking, from my fins, from the pole. My skin is super dry and itchy from being out in the sun, despite all the sunscreen and lotions. I have new old problems, like how to keep my hair out of my face when Iʻm catching waves, and new old-lady problems like how to protect my eyeballs from the sun while Iʻm catching waves.
No get me wrong. I love being lazy. I love loafing and watching TV and eating. I enjoy sitting on the beach, reading a book. But Iʻm not going to forget how my body loves to move. I can be lazy and adventurous! Kanani can be many things even if they seem contradictory. Iʻm contradictory, after all. Donʻt you know me? Iʻm complicated. Iʻm complex. I am intricate.
Besides, you donʻt have to be good at something to do it. Iʻm just gonna do what I love and hope it works out in the end.

No comments:
Post a Comment