I must confess to an addiction. It is not illegal, salacious, or immoral. Nonetheless, it’s a compulsion over which I have no control. It has consumed me, totally. I am a human hand-puppet to its will; I’m a heroin addict, without the heroin.
Nor, I must confess early on, am I alone in my craving. This particular hunger does not discriminate. To come into its orbit, is to be totally consumed by it. So, I must confess, I have a partner in this madness-I’ve infected my boy. (Oh, the shame!)Some background.My boy and I enjoy doin’ sports, just about anywhere, but nowhere more so than on and around the beach. Beach cricket, beach footy, flyin’ a kite, and I’ve got him a board and we give that a floggin’, but, up until about two weeks ago, our fav was the Frisbee.
We’d Frisbee away that much that I caught the boy actually dreaming about it. ‘Dad. Dad! Incommmmmmminnnnnnng’, I caught him crying as he was went through the Frisbee motion in his sleep one night. We’d also get right into the different throws. Forehand, backhand, under the legs, behind the head, etc., etc. We were pretty much in love with the frizza, but we had control over that love.
Destiny. It’s a funny ‘ol thing. Things were to change, massively, after a visit to the sports store for a random purchase; I think it was for one of those cones that help you to put grips on cricket bat handles (but I digress). That was until about two weeks ago. And out went the frizza, as toy of choice for the Slattery boys, and in came the ‘Waboba’. Our particular craving is of the skimmer-ball kind.
And we have changed forever. You can define our lives through two acronyms, BW and AW: Before Waboba and After Waboba.
The Waboba is a small, soft ball, designed to (when thrown) skim and fly off the surface of water. Now, that’s probably bloody good fun in still water; a pool or a lake, and maybe even a massive bath. But you add in the undulations and crashing waves of the ocean, and you have yourself a real good test of one’s hand-eye coordination, and a real good opportunity to show off.
The boy and I get in knee deep surf and peg away for hours, lost in the experience and fun. Using the back of waves, the churning, crashing surf, and even the face of waves offers up 1000’s of variations in deflection. It’s not only totally lottsa, lottsa fun, it’s a bloody challenge, and, when ya pick of a ‘specie’, real good for the ego, let me tell ya. Talk about constant cravings of the soft, skimmer-ball kind!
It’s this combination of being a bloody challenge, allowing one to show off, as well as simply being enormous amounts-a-fun that make the bloody thing addictive-and very dangerous in wrong hands.
See, I called the frizza a toy earlier on. Well, the Waboba is not a toy. I think its ownership and use should be regulated by the government-like firearms, the use of motor vehicles and medicinal marijuana. In the hands of vulnerable humans such as those lacking self-control (like me) and those yet to have full control of their own world (like my boy), a Waboba has negative consequences for society!
Now, I’m fully aware that in writing of our addiction I may well have placed others in harm’s way. For this I do not apologise. As I explained, I’m an addict not a recovering addict! See ya down the beach for a throw? Ya know you want it.