The zen of Yo

In 1962, Duncan started a promotion to make Yo-Yo's popular again.  They made television commercials that blitzed Saturday morning and during Huckleberry hound hour at suppertime.  Armies of Yo-Yo specialists were sent out to convert the baby boom children.  They came to schools and put on shows.

And one talented tall fellow came to a small Illinois farm town of 500 and did a show in our school in the gym. He was handsome and charismatic, and sold yo yo's out of the back of his sedan.  Soon all the boys and most of the girls were yo-yoing,  before school, during recess, on the bus, they knocked and slept and went round the world.

oh I wanted a yo yo. I really wanted a yo yo.   I asked my mom for a yo yo  I talked about yo yo's   I was crazy to get one. She said no.  Of course she said no.  I didn't really have much hope for yes.

I stole into my mother's purse and took 3 dimes.  I took those dimes to the small gas station across from the school, my only mercantile outlet.  They were all gone.   I went to the school yard and let it be known I wanted to buy a spare yoyo .   A boy sold me an older wooden blue one, not the new butterfly shaped one, for twice what the going price was.   Children exclaimed I was being cheated, he was shoved a bit, but the deal held.

I was part of the faze. I had stuff like the other kids did.  I had this precious thing for my very own. Sticky stringed and scuffed a bit from being walked on the floor. it had done amazing things for its previous owner.

I wind it fresh, oh so carefully and prepare for my debut.  I fling it down with all my heart.  It goes to the end of its tether and bops back up into my face.   I fling it down. harder. It recoils and twists harder still.

 I unknot the string, spread it out, rewind it and try again. and again.   I try again at recess. I try again on the bus.  I go home and tell a bold faced lie about being given a yo yo by a boy who didn't want it anymore.

After watching me for a while with it. my family agreed they could see why.  No one to help me with it.  This mystery of yo was out of my reach.

Years went on.  With no one to help me I eventually learned how to ride a bike. sort of.  I made myself learn to swim, sort of.  Not really,  but I tried.  I crashed into bushes.  I sank to the bottom.  but as an adult I tried. and tried.


More years go on.

I get a son.  a beautiful boy.  He's healthy and active and he wants a yo yo one day.   "I want to try it Mom."

I buy him a yo yo. I will learn this skill.  He will not suffer like I did.   It is the age of the internet.  I google how to yo yo.


Place the string around your finger... got it.
Allow the yoyo to fall from your palm past your finger tips.


Fall?  Just let it fall?   Allow it to slip out?

I do this.    Effortlessly.  It goes to the end, hits bottom and snaps back up for my hand to catch it. Effortlessly.

I yo yo and yodel in glee.

I yo yo all over the house.

I yo yo over and over again till my son pries the precious thing from my fingers and is taught.


He yo yo's like a champ.


In the age of youtube and google, no one need suffer alone.

Just let it fall.