My Olympic Dreams
Watching the Winter Olympics with Rachel has brought back some long forgotten or maybe suppressed memories of Olympic dreams I once held. We were watching some outlandish sport called “Curling” when we began asking about other sports and whether or not they were Olympic sanctioned events: bowling, roller skating, croquet, ping pong. . .
PING PONG! My mind, like a whirlwind, began swirling back through many years to a time when as an adolescent living at 843 Koonce Street I dreamed the dream of being a world-class ping “ponger”. Memories began flooding back in such force that all I could do was sit and hysterically laugh, leaving my family to wonder if I’d lost my mind.
When it started, I can’t be sure, but my brothers Randy and Kevin decided that they wanted a ping pong table. Buying one, because of our financial standing, was way out of the question, and I’m not even sure if we ever entertained that thought. The only “logical” solution to our quest in obtaining the table was building it ourselves.
Dad, being the master craftsman he is, was “commissioned” to do the job, and I guess he made a trip down to the local lumber yard and got the materials out of which to create the masterpiece. There lies one of the problems. To save money, the top grade plywood was NOT purchased but a less expensive sheet. If you know anything about plywood you will know that the lower grades tend to have more knot holes in them. Put that thought over to the side while I elaborate more on the table. We will revisit the “holes” later.
The wood was cut and assembled into a Ping Pong table. In retrospect, it seemed to be much larger than tables I’ve since played on, but time has a way of warping ones memory. I’ve not asked Dad or my brothers if they did research on dimensions before drawing the plans. If they were true to Larpenter form, they didn’t.
The paint job was wonderful even if a matte finish may have been less “active” than the high gloss that was used. It really shined and looked professionally done. Dad loaned us his prized saw horses as support and a net and paddles were purchased. (I know at one point Randy made some paddles which had handles any giant would have been proud of!)
The location of our newly gained piece of sports equipment was the “Honey Room”. Now before you jump to conclusions about that room, let me paint a clear picture for you. The “Honey Room” was our carport which had been enclosed with a huge metal garage door which had to be manually opened and closed. The original intended use of the room was to house Dad’s bee-keeping equipment, but as time progressed, it became a storage room for just about everything. If you’ve ever seen the Discovery Show “Hoarders” you may have a clearer mental picture of what it really looked like! Walking through it was sometimes a major challenge but that did not deter our dreams of setting up the Ping Pong table there. When we wanted to accomplish something, we were busier than Dad’s bees on a sunshiny day. I’m not sure what we did with the “treasures” we moved to make room for the table, but room was made and we set it up.
The setting up of the table was the beginning of my Olympic dreams. With the table, came many of the neighborhood kids and friends of Randy’s. It was a favorite place to be and there was much fun and competition in the “Honey Room.”
All of our knowledge of the rules and technique of the game came from hands on experience. If we had a rule book, I don’t ever remember seeing it. We didn’t have a television so we couldn’t have seen any professionals demonstrating the finer art of the game. Randy was the first to learn how to place a spin of the ball by quickly moving the paddle as it made contact with the sphere. In order to compete, we all soon learned to do the same. Slamming the ball would have been okay in an arena where there was plenty of room. We had to be careful not to fall over “stuff” as we lunged for the ball.
I guess our game of Ping Pong introduced hazards in competition. One of the hazards was all the stuff that you had to avoid as you ran after a flying ball. It sometimes led to balls being stepped on which could bring a good game to a screeching halt especially if there was only one ball.
The other hazard that comes to mind was the knot holes I mentioned earlier in this story. After a year or so, humidity, the chemicals of the paint, and who knows what else, the holes started changing shape. No longer were they flush with the top of the plywood but were making their appearance as dandelions do when the warmth of spring approaches. If your ball hit a knot hole just the right way, it could change directions flying off the side of the table or even heading back at you, the server! Avoiding these table “traps” required even more skill than that of professional ping pong players.
The table, once we lost interest and got tired of chasing fly-away balls, moved on to bigger and better things. Its highest calling was probably holding food for the church pot-luck dinners. I wonder where it is today. I’ll have to ask dad. I wish that I could go back to those days in the “Honey Room” and eavesdrop on those Larpenter kids who had dreams of making it to the Olympics. Long may kids be able to dream in their enclosed garages!
PING PONG! My mind, like a whirlwind, began swirling back through many years to a time when as an adolescent living at 843 Koonce Street I dreamed the dream of being a world-class ping “ponger”. Memories began flooding back in such force that all I could do was sit and hysterically laugh, leaving my family to wonder if I’d lost my mind.
When it started, I can’t be sure, but my brothers Randy and Kevin decided that they wanted a ping pong table. Buying one, because of our financial standing, was way out of the question, and I’m not even sure if we ever entertained that thought. The only “logical” solution to our quest in obtaining the table was building it ourselves.
Dad, being the master craftsman he is, was “commissioned” to do the job, and I guess he made a trip down to the local lumber yard and got the materials out of which to create the masterpiece. There lies one of the problems. To save money, the top grade plywood was NOT purchased but a less expensive sheet. If you know anything about plywood you will know that the lower grades tend to have more knot holes in them. Put that thought over to the side while I elaborate more on the table. We will revisit the “holes” later.
The wood was cut and assembled into a Ping Pong table. In retrospect, it seemed to be much larger than tables I’ve since played on, but time has a way of warping ones memory. I’ve not asked Dad or my brothers if they did research on dimensions before drawing the plans. If they were true to Larpenter form, they didn’t.
The paint job was wonderful even if a matte finish may have been less “active” than the high gloss that was used. It really shined and looked professionally done. Dad loaned us his prized saw horses as support and a net and paddles were purchased. (I know at one point Randy made some paddles which had handles any giant would have been proud of!)
The location of our newly gained piece of sports equipment was the “Honey Room”. Now before you jump to conclusions about that room, let me paint a clear picture for you. The “Honey Room” was our carport which had been enclosed with a huge metal garage door which had to be manually opened and closed. The original intended use of the room was to house Dad’s bee-keeping equipment, but as time progressed, it became a storage room for just about everything. If you’ve ever seen the Discovery Show “Hoarders” you may have a clearer mental picture of what it really looked like! Walking through it was sometimes a major challenge but that did not deter our dreams of setting up the Ping Pong table there. When we wanted to accomplish something, we were busier than Dad’s bees on a sunshiny day. I’m not sure what we did with the “treasures” we moved to make room for the table, but room was made and we set it up.
The setting up of the table was the beginning of my Olympic dreams. With the table, came many of the neighborhood kids and friends of Randy’s. It was a favorite place to be and there was much fun and competition in the “Honey Room.”
All of our knowledge of the rules and technique of the game came from hands on experience. If we had a rule book, I don’t ever remember seeing it. We didn’t have a television so we couldn’t have seen any professionals demonstrating the finer art of the game. Randy was the first to learn how to place a spin of the ball by quickly moving the paddle as it made contact with the sphere. In order to compete, we all soon learned to do the same. Slamming the ball would have been okay in an arena where there was plenty of room. We had to be careful not to fall over “stuff” as we lunged for the ball.
I guess our game of Ping Pong introduced hazards in competition. One of the hazards was all the stuff that you had to avoid as you ran after a flying ball. It sometimes led to balls being stepped on which could bring a good game to a screeching halt especially if there was only one ball.
The other hazard that comes to mind was the knot holes I mentioned earlier in this story. After a year or so, humidity, the chemicals of the paint, and who knows what else, the holes started changing shape. No longer were they flush with the top of the plywood but were making their appearance as dandelions do when the warmth of spring approaches. If your ball hit a knot hole just the right way, it could change directions flying off the side of the table or even heading back at you, the server! Avoiding these table “traps” required even more skill than that of professional ping pong players.
The table, once we lost interest and got tired of chasing fly-away balls, moved on to bigger and better things. Its highest calling was probably holding food for the church pot-luck dinners. I wonder where it is today. I’ll have to ask dad. I wish that I could go back to those days in the “Honey Room” and eavesdrop on those Larpenter kids who had dreams of making it to the Olympics. Long may kids be able to dream in their enclosed garages!
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