The day you saw your parents squished by a dinosaur’s foot, you rolled yourself into the fetal position and pretended to be a stone. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it, like many things, was good enough. You weren’t white, like marble, or gray like granite, but you managed to escape the notice of Tyrannosaurus Rex, king of the Mesozoic Era when other dinosaurs were larger but not fiercer than ‘the one with the big head and jagged teeth.’
All those years lodged in the hillside of an Anatolia hillside, it was only a matter of time, sand, shifting winds, and plate tectonics before your rough edges became smooth enough for you to dislodge. Having nothing to hold on to, neither rope nor root, nor vine or visitor. You began to roll down the hillside. Once again, distinguished from the safety of dirt and real stones, you were vulnerable. But, once again, you adapted, rolling into the sea, buffeted by currents but ignored by water creatures, some of whom crawled onto the land.
“It’s the best of times,” said those undecideds who voted with their fins to have the best of sea and land. “The monstrosities you warned us about have disappeared. But it’s also the worst of times because the smaller living things have become sneakier and they still have legs and feet.”
“How small is small?”
“Tiny. Unseen. Even big small things can be felled by microbes. Every living thing can now fight a battle and has a chance of winning in the game of survival. Flying Mini Rex can swoop down and carry off beings above their weight class. However, the flowers are pretty and the grass is greener on dry land.”
Amphibians always did have eyes for detail, their eyes being larger than yours.
“I did have great memories of being on land, but it’s the images of Splat and Crush that haunt me.”
“But the sea turtle tempted you, and you stopped hiding in the coral and let the tides take you back, back to the world of dirt and boulders.”
“I gave in, and washed up on Albion’s shore. Mea culpa. How was I to know I’d travel more slowly in soggy soil? Bogged down, often mistaken for peat and then shoved aside when it was evident I was too heavy to take inside a hut to be burned alive. As the seasons of rain and sun passed, I noticed I was changing color. I became a “gray man” and then … as you see me now. Neither all black. Nor all white.”
•••
That was the day of the break-through. The self-knowledge that made you pliable, when you realized that the tight ball of your being had a purpose, if only you could discover what that purpose was. Like many great discoveries, however, your eureka! moment came by accident. I call that finding fate.
“I got kicked. Hard. And it stunned me at first, and I experienced a state of euphoria as strong as the shock of watching my parents become pancakes. Waves of joy as powerful as the sea swept over me. Undulating. Cresting. One with the universe. I was still round, but fulfilled.”
“Sounds like hot air to me. Perhaps we can skip those details, and return to your quest for purpose, the source of all joy, and your fixation on how you evolved. Let me explain. According to AI:
Genealogy is experiencing a massive boom in popularity because it offers a vital anchor of personal identity and connection in an increasingly digital and fast-paced world. People use it to discover where they come from, understand their personal narrative, and uncover deep historical context about their roots.
Your epiphany had to wait until October 26, 1863.”
“There were Carpetbaggers in England?”
“Every country has crooks, but no. After America’s Civil War, the losers became cowboys and the winners used their balls for settling the west. Focus. It was on that day that you officially became a demigod with your own set of commandments, only instead of ten, you have eleven. And, instead of you issuing them, they were applied to you, but they are nonetheless holy for that reversal. There still exists crime and punishment, only they’re called fouls and penalties.”
“It’s been a long two-hundred-forty-five million years, Coach.”
“Evolution takes time, but it’s all worth it when it comes to the glory of the game. This is the big one! Now you go out there and win one for those who count on you to make those years count for something.”
What was once deflated, almost flat, he sucked in the vital air that made him round and firm again. As though air made him potent again, and I knew he was ready.
“There’s just one thing, Coach. It may sound trivial to you, but there’s one commandment I don’t understand. Why during the struggle of the game do I never feel the touch of a human hand to sort of give me a pat on the back, you know?”
“Oh, my boy it may seem harsh, but think about this any time you start that self-pity routine: people rule the earth now, and without them, you’d be just another Darwinian failure. Your game originated in China four-thousand-three-hundred-twenty-six years ago, and your kind once was filled with feathers. It took another six-hundred-fifty years before the Mayans started team play. There are plenty of games that require a hands-on approach but in this land where God, King, and Country mean something– albeit diminishing by the day, if your game wasn’t called soccer, be called rugby.”
That put a quickness in his bounce. We both knew that the most valuable things are those that take a long time to make. Hand-crocheted Afghans, chocolate-chip cookies. I still grieve for my 1970 Chevy Malibu. They’re not made anymore. But, Little Fifa? His descendants will be kicked around every school playground around the world well into the next millennium.