Juggling Tales

Turning Point

BY DEAN BURKEY

"Just another day of juggling," I thought to myself as I performed a simple tennis

ball routine while riding a unicycle across a cable that stretched between the World Trade Center towers in New York City. Despite the strong wind, I managed to keep control of the balls, which was more than I could say for the bowling pins that I had been using. A quick gust had caught me off guard and suddenly a horse and carriage entrepreneur below was out of business, a tired old horse was out of its misery and a small gang of underprivileged children acquired mystery meat burgers for a week.

Once aware of the wind, I was able to ad-lib a few extra laughs by throwing the balls against the air current to create amusing arcs. Halfway across I retrieved the balls and stopped the unicycle. Carefully balancing my head on the seat and using my hands on the pedals for control, I performed a handstand and began tossing one of the balls from foot to foot.

It was precisely at that precarious moment that I realized that I had never wanted to be an entertainer. Make-up gives me a rash, the costume's too tight and I abhor having all of those people staring at me. As my composure crumbled, my hidden props came out of hiding and plummeted 110 stories. I started to wobble and the crowd went wild.

I don't think most people ever intend to be sadistic. That's to say I don't think anyone wants to watch someone die. But, if someone is going to die, then certainly everybody wants to see it. Most entertainers use this fact to their advantage. Evel Knievel made a fortune out of people wanting to be there if he got killed. Of course, one should always utilize the proper precautions when using such a ploy. But in my case, it was no trick.

After years of performing feats of daredevilry and slapstick humor and becoming "The Juggler's Juggler," I suddenly forgot all I had ever learned. And why? Because I realized that I had never wanted to become a juggler. Never.

Juggling had been my little brother Timmy's dream, not mine. After his tragic demise, I ceased to exist as a person and adopted all of Timmy's characteristics - his hopes, his dreams, his rubber chicken. I became the adroit juggler and knock­about clown that Timmy had always wanted to be instead of pursuing my own dream of becoming a notary public.

Although certain that I was about to die, I rejoiced to have finally been set free. For 25 years I had been a prisoner inside my own mind. Timmy was only seven when he walked atop our backyard fence and juggled an apple, an orange and a pear. "Throw me some more fruit," he yelled with joyful delight as he maintained his balance and juggled with impeccable precision. He was trying to work his way up to five pieces of fruit, so I willingly obliged. I threw him a watermelon. He died on the way to the hospital. A van sideswiped our station wagon. Imagine my grief. He had been wearing my favorite sweater.

I somehow felt responsible for Timmy's death and the guilt was so pervasive that I, in effect, became Timmy. I laid aside any notion of stamping documents in order to become a juggler extraordinaire.

Just then a pigeon bit my ear and brought me back to the grim reality of my desperate situation. I forgot everything I had ever known about balance and stunt performing while teetering upside down on a unicy­cle atop a cable 110 stories high.

Then suddenly, when all hope seemed lost, my situation worsened. The wind blew stronger and I began to spin as the seat upon which my head was supported started to turn. With my legs out­stretched, I must've resembled a giant top.

I was all set to headline an act at the Pearly Gates, but then I realized that just as I had become "The Juggler's Juggler," I could become ''The Notary Public's Notary Public." I determined that yes, I would live, for there would be far too many documents left unstamped if I should fall.

Just then, the unicycle fell out from under me. I grabbed the cable and dangled above as the unicycle crashed below. The crowd began screaming, especially the person upon whose foot the unicycle landed. I inched my way back to the platform and addressed the cheering crowd, "If you think that was amazing, wait 'till you see what I can do with an affidavit! Goodbye Timmy! Goodbye cheering crowd! Goodbye world of juggling! I have documents to stamp!"

Ever since that turning point, I have spent several hours a day perfecting my document stamping skills, even to the point of calluses! The lesson to be learned is that everyone must fulfill the destiny written in the heart, or carry on a heinous masquerade that will bring one to the brink of destruction. That this is true, I indeed certify!   

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