Swish, swoosh

The modern Hula Hoop was introduced in 1958 and for a while the country was obsessed with it. It was still popular when I was in grade school and my parents bought one for us kids. I quickly monopolized it. I could spend hours hooping in the backyard. The swish swoosh of the beads inside the plastic tube. The rhythm of my hips as I swayed back and forth. The gentle sensation as it started on my right hip, passed over my belly, then hit the left hip for a final push back to the beginning. It was mesmerizing and I was good at it. (There was so little physical mastery in my life that I embraced this wholeheartedly).

Swish swoosh. Swish some more. If it started sliding down I sped up the movement. Some geniuses were able to let it go to the knees and back up their bodies. The really good ones let the hoop travel to their upheld wrists. On TV you could see athletes working multiple hoops to massive applause and admiration. Did my sister strive for that perfection? I think her ambitions were loftier than mine. I was content to stand in place, rocking gently back and forth, self hypnotized by a spinning toy.

My parents both worked so we kids went to a summer program at our elementary school. I remember painting plaster of paris turtles, gluing pom poms to construction paper, dodgeball, tetherball, Koolaid in Dixie cups. I don’t remember the people (I was quite introverted). And then one day they announced a Hula Hoop contest. My sister assumed I would enter; after all, I could hoop like nobody’s business. It seemed harmless.

On the appointed day we gathered on the blacktop in the hot smoggy air with our equipment. A whistle blew and hips began moving. I found my rhythm and stayed in my own world. There was a little anxiety when the unfamiliar equipment began to drift south of my waist, but I was able to stop the trajectory and reseat it around my hips.

One by one the hoops fell. I sort of noticed that the field was getting smaller, but kept my attention on my own hoop. Finally there were two of us, locked in rhythm. The crowd got bored. The teachers were ready to go back inside and serve Koolaid. A shout went up.

“WAR! War! HULA HOOP WAR!”

I had no idea what this meant. Hula Hoop war? With whom? With what?

My opponent knew this game. She purposefully started moving toward me and someone shouted to me that the object was to use my hoop to knock hers to the ground. I had no idea how to do this. “Debbie! MOVE” someone shouted. I took a few tentative steps, still rocking my hips. I made her come to me. She thrust her hips viciously in an attempt to knock me off my rhythm. I still didn’t understand the concept. As a solitary, lonely child, I had no knowledge of playground dynamics. I held my ground, she advanced, there was an awkward wobble…

I won. My naivete kept me focused on myself and since I wasn’t trying to do anything – no offense, defense, avoidance…I won.

I was not the crowd favorite. The contest ended with a thud and a whimper as everyone picked up discarded hoops and trailed back to the classroom. My sister and some of her friends congratulated me and cast triumphant looks at the crowd. A teacher patted my shoulder. I was excited, nervous, awkward…I wanted to be invisible again.

A few weeks later our group boarded buses for a summer field trip. I was on the curb waiting for a full bus to pull forward so I could get on the next one. I heard jeering above my head and looked up to see the person I beat at Hula Hoop with her gang of friends – boys and girls. They were mocking me from the bus and suddenly one of the boys hawked and shot a loogie in my direction.

He missed my face, but scored a direct hit on my shirt. Snot and saliva mingled on the cotton and I stared at it in horror and embarrassment. The bus pulled away and I got on the next one.

I didn’t tell anyone. I must have borrowed a kleenex from a teacher to wipe it off. My brain was blank and my mind was buzzing. Who does that? Who spits out a window at a child standing on the curb? I was fearful and shocked.

All those years ago. My mastery of a silly childhood game led to my first instance of bullying. I had walked in a bubble, unnoticed, unseen, unaware. In an instant that changed. Not everyone was like me, not everyone was my friend, and bleagh. Loogies. Ick.