scratch the felt, I say; you might just learn something in the process.

My pop asked me tonight if I am any good at playing pool.

To which I said, No. And you wanna know why? Because you never let me and my brothers play on our pool table for fear that we’d scratch the precious felt (well actually I said velvet, but my mom corrected me). The most we were allowed to do was roll those pool balls around (and for all the rolling of balls I did (let’s try to be mature and just let that statement go, please), you’d think that, as a result, I’d at least be better at bowling, but nope. I suck at bowling too!) and so, there’s your answer, pop: no, I am not at all good at pool because you never let me play!

And guess what’s probably not even intact anymore anyway? That dumb felt. I’m assuming it isn’t because the pool table isn’t. And what? Is felt comparable to the ivory from an elephant or something? Is it really that hard to replace? Because I am pretty sure it’s like five dollars at Joanne Fabrics. I am pretty sure every church has reams of it, just begging to be used, come those long hot days of VBS.

And after all of this, my pop smiled sheepishly and admitted, Well that probably wasn’t very good, huh?

But don’t worry pop, there are a lot worse things parents can do to their children; I remain grateful that my daddy issues revolve around felt.

But I think there is a metaphor somewhere in all this. I think that, in an attempt to keep something in perfect condition, we can sometimes keep from really trying. Or even trying at all. Sure, we can try and get hurt or scratch the felt or break our heart or feel intense disappointment, but at the end of the day wouldn’t you rather have discovered that darn! you’re really super good at pool, despite the scratches you have in the felt with which you now have to contend?

I would, anyway.

And I am really not so mad about the pool table. Though, if it’s anything like the way we took to the table that we were allowed to use–the ping-pong table–then, the Latshaw’s would now be a force to contend with in the world of pool as well as ping-pong.

And I am not saying I’d be a hustler, but at least if I were, you don’t have to worry, because it’d be COMPLETELY CO-ED! –just like the way I like my organized skinny dipping, if you didn’t know.

And I’m just kidding about that, if you didn’t know.

Anyway, yes. I’d rather risk some fallout and go after something wholeheartedly than sit and stare at a perfect and unused table. Or heart. Or dream. Or life, for that matter.