Monkey Bars
In pursuit of perfection
It was a late-summer afternoon outside the middle school. A boy played alone on the monkey bars.
He hung from the steel with one arm, then swung the other up to catch the next bar. Arm under arm in perfect rhythm, effortlessly reaching the other side. A perfect dismount.
Another boy played in the sand. He scooped sand into a mound and dug a hole. He quietly watched as the first boy effortlessly crossed the bars again and again.
Bored and curious, he walked over.
“Do you mind if I try?”
“You’ll have to wait,” the boy said. “I need to get this right.”
“It looks like you’re doing it perfectly. You’ve gone back and forth at least ten times without slipping.”
“The trick is to get your hands and your body into precise alignment. Then it takes no effort at all. I’m still practicing. Here, watch.”
The boy swung across the bars with precision, reached the end, and turned back without pausing.
“Okay,” he said, dropping down. “That’s how you do it. You can try now.”
The other boy gripped the bars and pulled himself forward, but halfway across his arms gave out and he dropped into the dirt.
“Let me try again.”
“No. It’s my turn now.”
“But you already went ten times.”
“You fell off. You have to make it to go again.”
The boy stepped back, a little disgruntled, and watched him glide across the bars another ten times, flawless as ever.
When he jumped down, he shook his head.
“Not even close to right!”
“It looked good to me.”
“Go ahead.”
The boy jumped up again. This time he made it a little farther before falling.
“Can you spot me?”
“I can’t. That’s not how it’s played.”
“Okay… I’ll go again.”
“Nope. My turn. You fell off.”
Again, the boy crossed the bars. Back and forth. Back and forth. Ten more times.
“NOT EVEN CLOSE!” he shouted.
The other boy stared at him.
“What are you talking about? You made it every time. You’re really good at it.”
The boy shook his head.
“Okay. My turn.”
“No,” he said. “I have to get this right.”
Another flawless traverse.
“Now. Watch this,” he added. “You let the momentum of your legs carry you forward.”
“I think I got it.”
The boy jumped up again. This time he moved with rhythm, bar to bar, clean and controlled until he reached the other side.
He hung there for a moment, surprised.
“I made it.”
“Not bad,” the boy said. “But it’s my turn now.”
“But I made it.”
“You only made it halfway. You have to make it back before you can go again.”
The boy dropped down.
The other boy went again.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Twenty times.
Effortless.
“NO GOOD!”
The boy looked up at him.
“That was amazing. You went back and forth twenty times.”
The boy shook his head.
“That wasn’t perfect.”
The boy responded.
“Maybe perfection doesn’t exist.”