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Chronicles of Cool Dad: Trampoline Park Edition

Trampoline parks combine the joys of a daycare center and the thrills of mid-air turbulence with the manic uncertainty of when you’re going to twist an ankle or enjoy whiplash for the first time. It’s like entering a child mosh pit and paying $45 for the privilege.

To be honest, I was kind of excited when my 8-year-old suggested it. After all, I finally had a reason to go to a trampoline park, which is 95 percent the reason to have kids in the first place. Sure, you could probably go without having a child but you might as well pull up in your white, windowless van with your pencil mustache, you creeper.

After 45 minutes waiting in line just to register, you’re given a waiver that uses as many words as possible to tell you that what you’re about to do will probably maim you and they take no responsibility for your poor Sunday decisions. There are less words in an iTunes user agreement and more paperwork than buying a house.

“I didn’t bring my attorney,” I said to the kid behind the counter after leafing through the binder. “If I do, can she jump, too?”

“…do you have our socks?” he replied, awkwardly.

I wasn’t sure if this was a code. It sounded like a code. I felt like I needed the proper response to get a briefcase full of documents.

“I’m wearing socks?” told the chap, flinging my foot on the counter to prove it.

“You’re not allowed to jump unless you have our special socks.”

“Ooooo! That sounds faaaaaaancy! And not at all a way to make an extra $5.”

I begrudgingly paid for them because who needs money anyway?

After putting on the special socks, I felt like descending a museum wall to steal an old painting. My daughter is not yet old enough to get embarrassed by me so she thought it was hilarious when I started making Mission Impossible sounds and started stepping over imaginary lasers. The employee was less than thrilled and asked that I not do it behind the counter.

When you have a daddy-daughter day, there is the expectation that your butt is OUT THERE. You may NOT lounge in the Parent Zone ™. Parent Zone™, which has the motto, “You could jump on one of the 500 trampolines but…nah.” This area combines the excitement of an open-air locker room with an airport gating area. The rules of Parent Zone™ are as follows:

1) No smiling or joy of any kind

2) Watch sports

3) Give out money to children whenever they want while feeling awkward being around children

You are effectively a human ATM. So, you know, a microcosm of parenting.

Entering the Bounce Zone™ everything is covered in padding and foam, which you’d think would be reassuring to a child with limbs. Unfortunately, they see this as a personal challenge to find a way to injure themselves despite all of the precautions.

You will inevitably try to jump as high as you can and think, “OK. Now what?” And this time is after approximately six jumps. Then you look over at what appears to be an Olympic gymnast doing flips.

“Dad, can you do that?” your child will ask, ignorantly thinking you MUST have trained for this at some point in your life.

But, alas, you cannot. There’s no “Designing a presentation using PowerPoint” zone here that you can REALLY impress them with.

“I don’t want to show them up,” you say instead. “Plus, the rules specifically say you can’t do more than two mid-air flips and my minimum is four so…”

When you’re at a trampoline park, there are things you should and should not do. They are as follows:

– Do NOT: attempt to do a flip for the first time if you’re over 30. If you do, you’ll get to experience another first: a chiropractor

– Do NOT: sit down on a trampoline. You will be chastised by the Trampoline Musher, who will whistle at you and bring shame upon you and your family

– DO: karate kicks in the air to impress all the moms

– DO: distract your child with candy so you can go hide in the Parent Zone™ to recover. Just don’t block the TV

– DO: realize how fun this is, save for all the kids. Ask about renting the place out. Not for a birthday party. Just for you. If it’s just you, wear your own socks to “stick it to the man.”

As I suspected, the entire experience was extremely fun. At first. I had no idea that there’s such thing as being in “trampoline shape” and that I was decidedly not in it. There comes a time during the hour you’re jumping when you become out of breath, feel like you’re going to pass out and you no longer remember how to walk normally.

Then two realizations hit.

You have 58 more minutes.

And there should really be trampoline parks for dogs.

——

Kelly Van De Walle can be reached at

vandkel@hotmail.com.

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