As one who maneuvered day to day, bandaged from knee to heart, these Weebles fascinated me. Careful not to get blood on the wall to wall carpeting, I sat ten inches from the color television set and watched them wobble. I sang along, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” For me they weren’t just a toy, but inspiration. I begged my mother mid-week, and waited the eternity for Saturday to arrive. I sat beside her anxiously at the laundromat. Listening. Praying for the spin cycle. Then the dryer. I ran the baskets to the back of the Chevy Impala and finally, finally, she drove to main street and parked in front of the Ben Franklin. I raced through the front doors to the back of the store. Gazed frantically through all the colors. Toy, by plastic toy. Then my eyes landed on the Weebles. They were so beautiful. So certain. I held the boxed family in my hands and smiled with want at my mom. She smiled in agreement and started walking to the counter.  “Would you like a bag?” the woman behind the counter asked. “No.” I needed them in my hands. Nothing could separate me. Not even a thin layer of plastic. 

As advertised, they didn’t fall. I wobbled them on stairs and gravel. Night stands and kitchen tables. I taped them to the back of my banana seat bike. Put them on the dash of the car. Stuffed them in pockets. 

They held firm. I continued to fall. But I was happy. It turned out I had the stability all along. It was her. The one who washed my clothes. Bandaged my knees. Held the back of my bicycle. Used her hard earned money to buy me impermanent things. Used her hard earned heart to keep me upright. She was the one who taught me the greatest lesson of all, “Sure, I’ve fallen, but oh, how I can rise!”

I wobbled through yesterday. Just one of those days. I smile with want at this morning’s sun, and I RISE!