Tom and Tim were the best of buddies. They lived in a basement apartment near their college campus. It wasn’t a nice apartment. The ceilings were too low—they were constantly banging their heads—and the shower was too small—they were constantly banging their elbows, too. But the yard outside made up for it. In the yard was a giant tree, and Tom and Tim would eat almost every meal under its shade. It was a welcome break from the oppressive hot summer sun. Tom and Tim loved their little dwelling because, even though it wasn’t the most ideal apartment, at least they were there with a friend.
One day Tim came home from the store with a big red ball. When he showed it to Tom, Tom’s eyes widened and his mind raced with all of the amazing things they could do with this marvel. They could kick it with their feet, or hit it with their hands, or just bounce it on the ground. The possibilities were endless.
“Let’s go play with it outside,” said Tim. Tom was quick to agree.
Outside they kicked the ball back and forth, having a grand old time. It seemed like they would never tire of this amazing activity.
Then, Tim suddenly stopped the ball at his feet and looked up at the towering tree in the middle of their yard. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he studied it. His mind was working, thinking, calculating. “Do you think I could kick the ball all the way over the tree?” he asked.
Tom turned to look at the tree as well. It was a very tall tree. “There’s only one way to find out,” said Tom.
Tim picked up the ball, looked up at the highest branches of the tree and readied himself for the kick. With the skill of a professional punter, Tim let the ball drop to his swinging leg. Thwunk, went the ball. It soared up into the sky, arced toward the tree and looked like it was going to make it over until it whacked a branch and started falling. It must have hit every single branch of that tree on the way down. Like a pinball, it bounced back and forth from branch to branch until it finally fell to the grass below.
Tom picked up the ball and looked up into the tree. “You almost made it, Tim,” he said. “Why don’t you try again?”
Tim tried again, but had the same effect. The ball bounced around the branches—which always drew “oohs” and “ahhhs” from Tom and Tim—then fell to the ground. Again, Tom gave Tim another try. Again, the ball hit branches and fell to the ground. This time, though, Tim asked Tom to take a try.
“I don’t know,” said Tom. “I don’t want to get your ball stuck.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Tim. “Just give it a try.”
So, Tom took his position about twenty yards from the tree with the ball in his hands. He looked up at the tree, dropped the ball and kicked with all the strength he could muster. Thwunk, went the ball.
This time the ball almost made it over, but one of the highest branches got in the way and knocked it down. The ball bounced from branch to branch like it had before, but this time, instead of falling to the ground, it got wedged between two branches and stopped.
Tom and Tim stood there staring up at the ball for a moment as if they were waiting for it to finish its journey to the ground. The ball didn’t budge.
Tom hung his head in shame. “I knew I’d get the ball stuck,” he said. “I knew I’d ruin the fun.”
“Don’t worry about it, Tom,” said Tim with a smile. “We’ll get it down.”
There was a bottle of water nearby that Tom and Tim thought would make a fine projectile. They started taking turns chucking it up into the tree to try and hit the ball down. It worked pretty well, too. They got close a few times, but they were never able to knock the ball down.
One throw got especially close. It actually hit the ball. But, to Tom and Tim’s dismay, it didn’t hit with enough force to dislodge the ball. Then, when the bottle fell back down, it landed directly on its cap and broke. They had to find something else to throw up there.
Nearby was a pile of wood and branches. They grabbed a few of the big, heavy, pointy ones and started throwing. These they were able to throw with much more power, but much less control. Leaves and sticks fell to the ground as the huge chunks of wood violently crashed through the branches. Tom and Tim thought that these big, heavy branches should have enough momentum to knock the ball free. They were confident that they would get lucky once and hit that ball—that is, until the tree threw one of their branches back at them.
It happened when Tim threw his chunk of wood—the biggest, heaviest, and pointiest of them all—high up into the tree, where it snagged a flimsy branch. The branch bent down with the weight of the wood, until it was to the point of breaking. It was like a giant arm wrestle between the branch and gravity. The branch proved the stronger, though, because it snapped back out and launched the pointy projectile back to where it came from, which was where Tom and Tim were standing in anxious anticipation. When Tom’s foot was nearly skewered by the wooden missile, they figured it was time to try a different tactic.
“I know!” said Tim. “I’ll just climb up and get it.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Tim,” said Tom. “Those branches don’t look like they’re strong enough to hold you.”
“Don’t be silly, Tom,” said Tim. “I’ll be fine.”
No sooner had Tim grabbed hold of the second branch, that they heard a very distinct crack. The branch broke, and Tim fell to the ground on his back.
Tom ran over to lift his friend from the ground. “Are you okay, Tim?” he asked.
“I think so,” said Tim. “But I don’t see how we’re going to get that ball down.”
They mused on it for a moment until Tom realized that he had a class to get to.
“Don’t worry about it, Tom,” said Tim. “I’ll figure out how to get this ball down by the time you get back.”
“I can hardly wait,” said Tom. He walked off to class with complete confidence that Tim would figure out some way to get the ball down. Tom could always count on Tim for those kinds of things.
So, he went to his class and sat in his seat but didn’t hear a thing the professor said. All he could think about was that big red ball and how much fun it was going to be to play with it again. Kicking it back and forth; throwing it up into the air; bouncing it on the ground. The possibilities were endless.
Finally, the bell rang and Tom quickly made his way back home. As he neared the house, he could hear something going on out back. He figured it must be Tim still trying to get the ball down, but as he got closer he couldn’t be too sure. Thwunk, he heard, and then a rustling of the tree branches, and then a few bounces on the grass. It almost sounded like someone was kicking the ball up into the tree again.
Tom rounded the corner and, to his utter amazement, saw that it was Tim who was kicking the ball up into the tree. Tom’s eyes widened as Tim kicked the ball high into the air, only to see it come crashing down to the ground through the tree branches.
“Darn it,” muttered Tim as he retrieved the ball.
“Stop!” yelled Tom. He ran over to snatch the ball from Tim. “Are you crazy? Have you totally lost your marbles?” he demanded. “Are you trying to get it stuck again?” Tom held the ball as if he were protecting a baby from a negligent nanny.
“Well, yeah,” said Tim, bowing his head sheepishly.
“What would you want to do that for? We were trying forever to get it down.”
“I know,” said Tim as he kicked a blade of grass at his feet. “And I felt so good when I finally did get it down that...well, I just...”
“You just what?”
“I just felt so good when I got it down, that,” Tim paused as he thought how to word what he wanted to say, “that I wanted you to be there for it.”