It’s spring time and I have a bump on my shin. I think if my life were a literary masterpiece, having bumps on my shin just in time for shorts weather would be one of the motifs. (If you don’t remember learning your literary devices in eigth grade, a motif is a theme, character type, image, metaphor, or other element that recurs throughout a single work of literature or occurs in a number of different works over a period of time.)
The first spring I had a bump on my shin was either my freshman year of high school or the year before that. I got hit in the leg with a softball and the swelling just took forever to go down.
As for the next one (actually two), I clearly remember my roommates and I examining the pair of mysterious bumps that surfaced on my shin during the spring of my junior year in college. We had no clue what they were from – I suppose they could have been bruises (I remember slamming my leg in the car door a few times that spring) or calcium deposits (that’s what Jess thought) – but we frequently referred to them simply as “shin cancer.” They were gone by the end of the summer without my ever really figuring out what they were.
This time, the bump is a result of my reckless waterfall behavior in the pool this afternoon. I begged my uncle to turn on the waterfall, and as he was about to push the button, my aunt and I noticed a potted plant sitting vicariously on the edge of the top rock. I dove across the pool and jumped up onto the waterfall to rescue the plant. Of course the water came rushing out into my face at that precise moment, and I’m sure you can picture the rest.
At least I kept the damn plant out of the pool. Here at the Bassani residence, we’ve already learned that a load of potting soil in the pool water doesn’t make for the most attractive swimming conditions.
