When I was in fifth grade I learned to juggle three balls. This was a great success for me. My mother had taught me long ago how to juggle two balls. I’d been interested in performing since I was young and juggling certainly fit the bill. As such, I admired jugglers and magicians and all sorts of performers when I was young, and each time I saw a juggler successfully juggle three balls I felt a pain in my heart because I couldn’t do it. But then came fifth grade. Then came my juggling, magician, math teacher. Then came the realization that came from math.
You see, in my quest to juggle three balls in both of my hands I’d actually taught myself to juggle two balls in one hand. I’m not going to say which is more difficult… but the three balls certainly looks more impressive. It turned out, however, that math was my savior. One day after class I asked my teacher about juggling three balls, “What’s the secret?” He’d probably seen me juggling two at some point during the school day (I was “that” kid) and realized, amazingly, that this was a teaching moment. He simply explained that juggling two balls in one hand (something I could already do) meant that my hands were way more outnumbered by balls than if I were juggling three balls in two hands. He was right, of course, and that one realization (given by math) gave me the determination to juggle three.
Recently I revealed this talent, quite absent-mindedly, to our son when he decided I was the receptacle for all things round. To entertain myself I began to juggle. Before I knew it he was in awe of those hypnotic orbs floating through space. I said, “Dada is juggling.” Then he replied, happy to know the word, “juggle!” My hands haven’t been empty since.