During a visit to Apple Granny’s place in Tennessee we lifted a boomerang from the basement. Grandpops left behind all kinds of interesting stuff in that basement, but for some reason, that boomerang struck me as something that meant something to me. Not in the sense that I could use it purposefully, of course, unless I could train it to find the remote or something.
Before I get too fruity here, I have to say that I never even had the opportunity to meet the man, Chloe’s Grandfather. But, as always, Apple Granny said anything down in that basement is ours if we want it. Everything I’ve heard about the man has been interesting, and Mama is always keen to keep something from the special people in her life. But I’m not sure if “want it” really applies here, because I didn’t think we’d be good stewards of such a thing, what with one kid who could hurt me with it, one who would dress it up like a baby then give it a bath, and one who would eat it, but nevertheless, it felt like it was time to help continue its journey.
The boomerang was picked up by Grandpops on a trip to Australia. Whether it was picked up at the airport gift shop, from a vendor cart in downtown Sydney, or traded for an Indian motorcycle and string of dried peppers to an Aborigine, I’ll never know. For some, knowing the story makes the thing, but not knowing seems to suit me and my nature.
So that boomerang made it upstairs and into a bag. Like I was saying, there was something about that boomerang that was picking at my brain, but I couldn’t sort it out, Then again, with three kids, I haven’t had a complete thought in some time. We did make it home with the stick to set on my desk, put behind the bar, under the sofa, in a box in the garage under a bag of give away t-shirts, or go hunting.
At that point, aside from putting this one in our travel bag, I’d never touched a boomerang, much less thrown one. I’d seen it done in cartoons, so I was an expert. My training in boomerolgy allowed me to apprise Noah that he should throw it “pretty far out into the field.”
A few minutes later I heard something that sounded like an asteroid striking our home, or, like the bang of a boomerang hitting the tin roof of the well house.
“What the hell” is the closest thing to good parenting I could come up with as I marched outside. Noah responded that he was quite far out in the field when he threw it. With the evidence proving otherwise, I declared that if anyone in our house pines to throw a boomerang and doesn’t know where it will land, then they may only look at the boomerang and not throw it.
A week or so later I walk out into the pasture behind our home. I walk considerably past the spot from which Noah claimed he threw the boomerang. As I scanned the acreage in front of me, I was convinced that I wouldn’t actually hit anything. Knowing that I have the athletic ability and dexterity of nearly round bowling ball with only a small chip in it, I threw the boomerang with about half strength. I wasn’t interested in losing a hand while catching the returning stick.
It went out in a beautiful arc. It silently made its way through the air, much higher, faster and further than I thought possible. I grinned at my strength and prowess. Me. Hunter. I imagined a wallaby in the outback (I had to imagine it since I don’t know what a wallaby is exactly) being hit by my deadly accurate throw. “Get a fire going on the grill,” I thought. I will even go so far as to tell you that I thought about unplugging the electricity from our house and living off of the land.”
The thing was flying quite a ways, so I had some time to think.
I continued to have time to think as it sailed past me, past the barn, over the fence, “Oh shit, it is going to hit my car and break the window,” then “Oh shit, it is going to hit Mama’s car and break a window,” then “I hope the kids aren’t on the patio,” then “Oh shit, it is going through the kitchen window” which was out of my site, then “Oh shit, I hope they aren’t all in the kitchen!”. There was no sound of breaking glass or any cries from offspring. The search ended an hour later with no trace of the boomerang.
The next day I spent time in front of our house and even across the road looking for the boomerang. Gone.
It ate at me for a couple of weeks that I threw that thing and didn’t know where it would go, and not knowing where it was at all actually kept me up at night. Perhaps it is just a symptom of being a worrier, part of what happens when one does something just knowing what the result will be only to find that Earth isn’t flat afterall.
People give me money because I know what will happen to them if they do what I tell them to do (and I know what will happen if they don’t), but in my own life, I’ve learned that I throw a lot of boomerangs. Occasionally I think I know where it will go only to learn I obviously had no clue. Other times I have a hunch that something will turn out in some way, even though I have no formal learning or experience and about it, and sure enough, it turns out that way.
While it may seem like I'm trying to be profound, all I’m really saying is that sometimes I get it right and sometimes I don’t. Surrounded by interesting people and things, I try to learn along the way. It is amazing that we can expand the grey matter that is trapped in our skull. And as long as I can avoid thinking I know something when I don’t, I’ll keep throwing boomerangs because it sure is fun to watch things fly.
