I’m writing from the kids’ new trampoline.

The trampoline was their big Christmas surprise, the one I wrote about in a column a few weeks back (the one I was dreading putting together). Thanks to a little help from my dad—er, I mean, Santa Claus—the trampoline is now fully assembled.

The kids love it, and I do too.

So much of my youth was spent on a trampoline. Over at Jay Lieblong’s house, we used to launch ourselves off a ladder and go flying through the sky.

We were wild. We were crazy. We pulled stunts that could've caused us great bodily harm.

My childhood trampoline had a blue, circular spring cover that was always slipping off. That must’ve been what happened the Christmas morning after Santa brought me a pair of boxing gloves.

I was probably ten, maybe twelve, when Dad and I took the gloves out to the trampoline, when we crawled into the "ring" and strapped on our gloves.

The match was mostly even until I did this flying, death-fist move and nailed Dad on the chin. He went flailing backwards, straight into the springs that the blue pad was no longer covering.

I’m not exactly sure how it all went down, but this was the end result: Dad was caught in the springs. His legs, all the way up to his knees, had slipped through the holes, and the rest of his body was dangling over the edge.

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I’m not sure how he got down from there. I didn’t wait around to find out. I sprinted back inside, all the way to my room, and locked the door.

I don’t think I’ll be falling off our new trampoline any time soon. It has a net and a properly secured pad. It’s even staked into the ground. My kids haven't asked to box, but we do jump a lot.

I’d forgotten how fun it is to jump. It’s a heck of a workout too. The one thing the new trampoline isn’t good for is the view.

Thanks to the massive, 10-foot-tall safety net, it’s hard to see the lake through my office window. Mount Nebo, Dardanelle Bay, all that beautiful water, has now been replaced by a web of UV-resistant polyester.

Though my view has changed, it’s not all bad.

If I’m patient, if I can remain undetected until the kids get home, then I’ll get to watch them make springy memories of their own.

Or who knows, I might just join them.

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