Parenting Is Like Directing A Movie

That’s what I figured out at Sky Zone

My and I have just entered Sky Zone, an indoor trampoline park in a 10,000-square foot warehouse near our home.

Non-stop movement is practically a biological necessity for Dominic at five, and I figure Sky Zone and Dominic will go together like a hamburger and French fries, nachos and cheese, or peanut butter and jelly.

I initial the liability waiver about twenty-five times, and we put on these orange socks with traction grips on the bottom and stand on the side of a massive trampoline sectioned off into five-by-seven foot individual squares. A staff member explains the one rule to us — only one jumper per square at a time — and so I think to myself this shouldn’t be all that difficult, right?

There is just one rule. Easy.

Or I wonder do my initials indicate something more dangerous?

And maybe I should’ve read the fine print for what I’ve just signed?

Why else would I need to initial the form so many times?

The number of initials seems more in line with the inherent risks associated with rock climbing or sky diving than bouncing on a trampoline.

A third of the squares are filled with jumpers from a girl jumping up and down and two teenagers doing front and backflips to a grandma in her sixties and every life stage in between. Dominic just needs to jump from one square to the next like a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad to avoid crashing into anyone.

The green light

We get the green light to begin jumping and Dominic bounces several times in one square before darting across the trampoline, running straight towards the grandma who jumps to a new square, and he crashes headfirst into the trampoline mat and I discover the reason for signing my initials so many times on the liability form before we could begin jumping: My son.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

He is breathing rapidly from the loss of oxygen, but aside from his precariously delirious mental condition, he seems okay.

He has sustained no physical injuries, and before I can remind him of the one-jumper-per-square rule or offer him some sagely dad wisdom, he gets up and begins jumping again while laughing at the same time.

This could be a bad combination, I think.

A dozen jumpers look like they’re a part of a dance choreography while Dominic looks like he will end up as roadkill. He takes off running and jumping, really a combination of running and jumping, and heads towards the teenage girl, before skidding to a halt in the trampoline and I feel as though I am watching an instant replay of a fatal car accident involving my son.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.

My perception has changed

The trampoline now looks to me like a giant checkerboard, but the checkers are not jumping how they’re supposed to move, but instead are leaping like a band of hyperactive crickets with no discernible pattern and there is one cricket running rampantly all over the checkerboard.

I once told a joke to my friend Jimmy at school as he was drinking milk and it dribbled out his nostrils. That is probably the extent of Dominic’s listening capacity at this moment and his ability to control his body seems minimal. I watch as he streaks across the trampoline like a coil spring loose before falling down with no style.

“Are you okay?” I ask him again.

I feel like the disciple Peter, who betrays Jesus three times on the night of his crucifixion. He has already crashed three or four times and I should intervene in some way. But why should I make my son stop? He has an ear-to-ear smile plastered on his face — proof he is having fun — even if he does resemble a car crash dummy.

Then I think of what I’ve learned in a Recovery group, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results and I realize that I have to do something to stop Dominic from crashing again.

But what should I do? Then it comes to me.

A smart idea

Next to the main trampoline is the Foam Zone, a square pit filled with foam blocks, a fifteen-foot runway, five lines, two or three kids deep. This gives Dominic time to regulate his body, and since many kids like to relax in the foam squares like it’s a hot tub, this gives Dominic additional time to get his body under control.

For Dominic, the Foam Zone is like going from batting against a Major League Baseball pitcher a twelve-year-old Little Leaguer. A better fit for his body, and to apply the Zones of Regulation* terminology I’ve been learning from Dominic’s occupational therapist, he goes from the Red Zone (body out of control) to Yellow Zone (a transitional stage) to the Green Zone (body regulated), and he does not end up becoming splattered on the trampoline from a collision.

With his body regulated, Dominic and I jump into foam blocks for the next forty-five minutes, and this is what I learn at Sky Zone: Parenting is like directing a movie. You have to know when to cut a scene short and how to blend one scene into the next and how to bring out the best in your lead actor. Most of all, I learn to understand the limits of my son’s sensory system from his time on the main trampoline.

Thank you for reading my story.

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