Sometimes we must fall to rise higher

PRINCETON — There’s a cinderblock retaining wall behind my parents’ house that I once fancied was a daring balance beam. It’s not narrow or high, but for a little girl who grew up as Mary Lou Retton’s star was rising, it was the closest thing to gymnastics apparatus my imagination could find in the back yard.

For hours in the summer of 1984, I gingerly marched back and forth along the wall that spanned the entire length of the house. My balance beam was long.

The fun worked out fairly well, until an off-kilter dismount sent me careening head-first into the brick wall of the house and leaving my parents concerned I might have given myself a concussion. Soon after, as they shone lights into my eyes and refused to let me go to sleep for fear I might not wake, they seriously discouraged my newfound interest in gymnastics. Since the summer Olympics only rolled around for two weeks every four years and there weren’t any gymnastics schools around at the time, there wasn’t much incentive to keep me balancing, or tumbling.

Years later, while watching a dozen or so graceful, athletic students of Princeton Gymnastics and Dance Academy lined up inside Princeton’s Town Square, the memory of my imaginary world-class event and a very real brick wall returned in full force.

It was a Wednesday, and the Times had invited the students of Princeton Gymnastics and Dance Academy to serve as the performers for the day.

Situated right in the middle of what is now known as the Dick Copeland Town Square, a dozen or so graceful, athletic students took deep breaths and began tumbling runs that would have left my mom weak-kneed and gasping for air had I tried them way back when. Nearby, about 30 Princeton Rays players watched the action and signed autographs, as they took part in a meet-and-green session with fans.

Most of the gymnasts flips, turns, twists and other acrobatic endeavors turned out flawlessly and ended with them on their toes and their faces beaming.

But, one little gymnast who stood out. She tackled her flips fearlessly and with a concentrated determination that was evident in her hard-set features. Each time she started a new trick, she attacked.

Maybe it was that single-minded focus. Perhaps it was the pressure of performing in the hot sun and the bright shine of a team of professional Rays. She may have even been new to the sport, but whatever the reason, the little girl’s landings usually finished up a little off-center and somewhat shaky.

That was a fact that clearly frustrated the little girl dead-set on finishing the show, whether her landings stuck or not.

Each time she didn’t quite nail a trick, she’d jump back up and get at the task at hand, setting her sights on her next turn. She never said a word, but the aggravation and commitment were written in the set of her eyes and the way she held her mouth.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gradually, the Appalachian League baseball players saw the heart she put into her newly acquired skills and the never-quit attitude they must have recognized from their own hard-fought innings on the baseball diamonds of their past and present.

The applause started with one or two players who clapped after each flip she did. Soon, it grew to include the whole team and the rest of the audience gathered for the weekly get-together on the Town Square lawn.

I was impressed, both with the gymnast’s refusal to give up and the baseball team’s encouraging applause, and it occurred to me that the rookie-league professional players, the little girl determined to do a flawless handspring and the rest of us out to accomplish our myriad goals all share some things in common.

Whether we’re learning gymnastics, aiming for the big leagues, shooting for a job or just trying to write the best story possible, sometimes it’s the things we want the most that are the hardest to achieve.

Sometimes we have to fall in order to rise higher.

An appreciative round of applause offers just the encouragement it takes to get up and get back at whatever it is that claims our attention.

And, there’s something inside all of us that instinctively wants to see those around us realize their dreams, because it makes our own seem that much more attainable.

Although I’ve always appreciated the seemingly weightless flexibility of gymnasts and the men who make a living as the boys of summer, I became much bigger fans of one particular tumbler and that year’s team of Princeton Rays.

Wherever I am or they may go, I’ll be somewhere cheering them on, and hoping that none of their adventures include a cinderblock wall and a brick house.

Tammie Toler is Princeton Times editor. Contact her at ttoler@ptonline.net.

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Sometimes we must fall to rise higher

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