If you have ever agreed that dancing is just an activity that you swing with your feet then you’ve never seen The Flying Mongoose. He performs his tactile dace under the cover of a flowing red tent where a band blares a single song for the Mongoose to dace. When he tromps around the dirty ground next to the bleaches with balls in hand your breath will be stolen. Then each finger will begin to move with more grace than a swan. He performs his steps with the constant intent of throwing and catching. Yes, The Mongoose is a juggler and a fine one at that. Yet nobody knows why the king of a red tent top turned into the person he is. Know body knows that is but I.
On the break of a still winter day while the sun was shining it’s hopeful rays, Gregory Jackson became a child. He was a heart warming boy given to two parents after 9 months of waiting. But, to their honest surprise Gregory was not the perfect symmetrical boy of his parents dreams. Jutting out of his left leg lay a mass of dead skin and muscle with four small toes poking form the mass. Fortunately Gregory’s parents were a joyful folk and accepted their son the way he was. Little Mr. Jackson’s third limb was the secret of his success.
Whenever were young we don’t like to have clothing clogging or “freedom.” Naturally we try to take them off with great haste. Any Mother will tell you that each child has his piece of clothing that he despises. For Gregory it was socks. On his first birthday his favorite thing was to take off his socks and throw them form hand to hand. Of course now you can see that it it weren’t for Gregory’s third leg juggling would not be his sport, but with three feet and three socks he had himself a pair of juggling scarfs with himself all the time.
As Gregory grew up he progressed form socks to scarfs and balls and even clubs. By his first day of school he would have been accepted into the circus without a second of about. Then, he did not know about the circus of course. As Greg got older his talents became sharper. Since he had had his hands moving all his life he could never stop tossing and catching. Each day during break he could be seen traipsing around the halls with four or five mismatched juggling tool flying from the palm to the sky.
Gregory’s talents were met with admiration at first but soon he was considered odd. Whispers flew whenever people glanced in his direction. Sometimes, the bolder ones shouted at him. As he grew older the whispers turned to shouters and the hecklers turned violent. Gregory would often be pushed, shoved, or hit while dancing his dance. Each time this occurred Gregory would simply pick up his balls, clubs, or scrafs and say, “My hands were made to move, and move they shall.”
On one fateful day in mid July I encountered Gregory on the street. I was strolling with my friend. We were on the street as Gregory walked by, juggling all the way. On that day my friend became my friend no longer. He stepped up to Gregory and said to him “Why can’t you be more normal?” Gregory replied as he always did, “My hands were made to move, and move they shall.” I gained a certain respect for him that day and with a sudden movement I dismissed my friend with a phrase and then I told Gregory about my work as man of the circus. From that day on, Gregory became the Flying Mongoose, the denizen of the big red tent.
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