The Disappearance of Trampolines: A Loss of Childhood Joy
Additional Piece:
Trampolines have always held a special place in my heart. From the moment I first experienced the exhilarating feeling of launching myself into the air, I was hooked. There’s something inherently joyful about bouncing on a trampoline, a childlike quality that brings out a sense of playfulness in us all. But it’s more than just a fun activity; it’s a way to connect with others, to find a community of like-minded individuals who share a love for the thrill of jumping off a springboard.
In today’s fast-paced world, where we are constantly bombarded with screens and technology, trampolines offer a much-needed break from the digital overload. They allow us to reconnect with our bodies, to feel the weightlessness of being airborne, and to experience a moment of pure freedom. It’s a reminder that there is still magic and wonder to be found in the simplest of things.
But sadly, trampolines are disappearing from our lives. Across cities and towns, public pools are replacing these beloved springboards with generic slides or removing them altogether due to concerns over insurance and liability. It’s understandable that municipalities want to protect themselves from potential lawsuits, but in the process, they are depriving us of an essential source of joy and connection.
As I’ve traveled from place to place, I’ve witnessed the slow decline of trampolines. It’s disheartening to see these once vibrant and bustling sites of laughter and excitement now abandoned or transformed into something mundane. But it’s not just the physical absence of the trampoline that is saddening; it’s the loss of the community it fostered.
At the board, I’ve met people from all walks of life. We come together, week after week, united by our shared love for diving and the camaraderie that comes with it. The Marks, Linda, and so many others have become friends, and we support and challenge each other to push our limits. We share stories, laugh, and celebrate each other’s accomplishments. It’s a beautiful testament to the power of a simple object to bring strangers together and forge connections that last a lifetime.
But as trampolines disappear, so too does this sense of community. Where will we go to be brave and inspire others? Who will cheer us on as we take that leap, both literally and figuratively? Without trampolines, we risk losing not just a fun activity, but an entire ecosystem of support and encouragement.
So, my plea to you is this – if you come across a trampoline this summer, seize the opportunity. Take the plunge, experience the joy, and be part of a disappearing tradition. And if you’re lucky enough to have a local pool with a diving board, cherish it. Support it. Advocate for its preservation. Let’s not let the magic of trampolines fade away. Let’s keep the tradition alive and ensure that future generations can experience the simple pleasure of bouncing on a springboard and the deep connections that come with it.
Summary:
Trampolines hold a special place in the author’s heart, evoking feelings of joy and playfulness. Despite not having an affinity for heights in general, the author finds a distinct kind of joy in launching their body off a trampoline. The article delves into the disappearing presence of trampolines, with many public pools opting for slides or removing diving boards entirely due to insurance and liability concerns. The author highlights the importance of trampolines in fostering a sense of community, with regular divers forming long-lasting bonds and supporting each other’s endeavors. The loss of trampolines thus signifies more than the absence of a childhood joy; it represents the erosion of a supportive and connected community. The plea is made to embrace trampolines whenever possible and fight for their preservation, so that the magic and camaraderie they bring can endure.
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I can’t remember a time without trampolines in my life. I have always loved them. This affection does not extend to the heights in general; I am not interested in jumping off the highest and most treacherous cliff or platform. I’m talking about a very specific joy that comes with launching your body off a springboard. Bouncing things bring out a playful, childlike quality in some people. I challenge you to jump off an angry trampoline, it’s impossible.
I live in Austin, which means a pool is crucial to surviving the Texas heat. I prefer to spend at least three or four days a week in the natural waters of barton springs, the legendary public swimming pool. I’ve been diving there since I was a kid, my mom was a Barton Springs lifeguard when she was pregnant with me, and I still feel a tiny, almost imperceptible tinge of fear every time I get close. My favorite move is a pike plunge. It goes like this: right foot, left foot, hop, bounce, feet together, hips up, head down, hands to toes, legs stretched over my head and vwoosh. Suddenly I feel weightless as the water rushes past my ears and I plunge into the depths where no one can see me. I keep coming back for the alchemy of joy, fear, and confidence that turns to pride, calm, and relief as my body enters the water.
I have met so many people in line at the board. I see them weekly, here in our Happy Place collective. On any given day, I might catch Linda, who goes by the nickname Lady Go-Diver With a Swimsuit, doing one of her trademark tricks, like the Whirling Mermaid, which involves putting water in her mouth and spinning her 360° while spitting it out. . It’s rare that I don’t see at least one of the Marks, whom I met about two years ago and who are named after the order in which I met them. Mark One is a sweetheart and easy to recognize with his white hair and faded tattoos, a classic Austin look. (We’re having a competition this summer to see who can do a one-and-a-half front cartwheel first—the loser gets enchiladas.) Mark Two is a safety architect and triathlete. He’s a celebrity on this board, one of the best divers I’ve ever seen. He lands double backflips like nothing. It’s really amazing to watch. As soon as he appears, people come to him for advice on how to hone his tricks.
But it’s not just experienced divers who catapult off this plank. On a busy Springs summer day, the line can be 30 people deep and consist of all sorts of thrill seekers, both experienced and novice divers. It is not uncommon to see 4 and 5 year olds inching their way to the bottom of the board. When they finally do jump, the crowd of spectators erupts as if the home team scored a game-winning touchdown in overtime.
But to me, a pool without a diving board is like a theater without a stage.
If it’s a busy day at the pool, my dip could also have a reaction. Sometimes the audience applauds or even gasps. When I come up for air, I can hear a stranger say, “Did you see that?” as if they were surprised to see a plus size woman in her 30s perform this gracefully. But her reaction is just a bonus, because the immersion isn’t for them, it’s for me. it’s proof Proof that if nothing else, I still have this. You see, I haven’t always had the kindest relationship with my body. I’ve never been little, which means that for most of my life, little is all I wanted to be. Finding clothes that I feel good in, especially in the sweltering heat of the Texas summer, is a challenge each year. But I’ve always felt safe in a bathing suit. Because even when I hate my body, the pool is neutral ground. No matter what kind of day I’m having, what my body has accomplished or not accomplished, I can still dive.
Trust can be a difficult thing to maintain. That’s why I started to panic when I started seeing fewer and fewer trampolines. I first noticed the trend in 2011, when I heard that my small hometown outside of Austin was renovating the public pool where I spent my childhood summers. A massive upgrade was planned for the original pool, built in the 1950s. Word got around town that they were replacing the backboard with a slide, and not even a cool slide. It looks like something from Toys-R-Us, the kind of cheap plastic gizmo that might be fun the first time you play with it, but inevitably ends up in the bottom of the toy box. A few years later, when I moved to Oakland in 2015, it took me almost five years of searching before I found a public springboard. When I finally saw one at the West Campus Pool in Berkeley, my eyes started to water. I spent the next three hours happily diving in, feeling the release of years of pent up tension.
Once I started talking about the disappearance of trampolines, everyone had a story for me. Mark Two told me that when he traveled across the United States, he looked for boards in every city he visited. They were few and far between. When he found one in San Diego, at a Jewish community center, he was devastated to learn that his rules prohibited any fancy plunge or cartwheel. From what I can tell, this all has to do with insurance and liability. Municipalities do not want to pay higher insurance rates that come with trampolines or be sued for injuries. But to me, a pool without a diving board is like a theater without a stage. Without springboards, where will we go to be brave and brag and believe in each other? So if you see a trampoline this summer, I encourage you to take the plunge. Who knows how much longer we can.
Haley Howle is a podcast writer, editor, and producer based in Austin, Texas. She was previously a senior producer at Pop-Up Magazine.
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