Come on! Aim for the edges.
My grandfather gave the order from across the ping pong table. I paused for a moment, unsure of myself.
This was my paternal grandfather – my dad’s dad. I had spent less time with him in my youth than I had my other grandfather – my mother’s father, who I’ve written about extensively. As such, I couldn’t quite get a read on him.
My grandfather held a sizable lead in this ping pong match. So, what was behind his command?
Was he trying to coach me up? To let me back into the game? To mess with my head and finish me off?
The first explanation seemed the simplest – and the least sinister. So, I let the words Aim for the edges wash over me.
I took a deep breath. I readied my paddle. And I served the ball across the table with confidence.
My grandfather volleyed the ball back to me, and I angled my paddle toward the far edge of the table.
One well-placed swing sent the ball screaming toward the white stripe at the table’s edge. The ball hit that stripe flush, just beyond the net. Then it careened further and further away from the table.
It was a perfect shot. The best one I’d ever hit.
But my grandfather refused to let it go uncontested. He lunged to his right, trying to salvage the point.
This was ill-advised.
Not only did my grandfather fail to reach the ball, but he also failed to keep his balance. He fell like a Ponderosa Pine, landing with full force on his right shoulder.
That landing spot was triple padded. Carpet on top of rubber on top of foam. Such are the luxuries of setting up a ping pong table in a condominium’s aerobics room.
But it didn’t matter.
The sheer force of impact broke my grandfather’s shoulder in two places.
The game was over. And so was life as I knew it.
My grandfather recovered from his injury in a matter of months.
But for years, family gatherings got a bit testy.
So, you’re the one who broke your grandfather…over a game of ping pong, my relatives would exclaim to me. Why would you do that?
The critique seemed a bit tongue-in-cheek. But I quickly learned that these relatives were not joking.
I couldn’t find an explanation that would ease the tension. No one wanted to hear that the injury was an accident, that I won that point, or that my grandfather told me to hit the ball where I did.
Despite my best intentions, I felt like Persona Non Grata. I was notorious.
Eventually, my family moved on. I stopped getting grief and started to attend these gatherings uninhibited.
But this whole experience cast a long shadow.
I still don’t think I’ve played ping pong since my grandfather’s injury decades ago. And I’m wary about engaging in any athletic actitivies with my relatives.
What if I get hurt, or get someone else hurt? I’ll never hear the end of it.
An unfortunate sequence of events has literally shifted family dynamics.
And this experience is far from unique.
There’s a famous Internet image of a young girl staring, nonplussed, away from the camera.
The image has been dubbed Side Eyeing Chloe, after the then-toddler it profiles. And it’s been repurposed for countless memes and GIFs.
The backstory behind this image is relatively ordinary. Chloe’s parents surprise her by saying that the family is heading to Disneyland. But instead of letting out a gleeful shriek, Chloe stares off to the side, her mouth slightly agape.
No one quite knows what young Chloe was actually thinking at the time. Was she confused? Concerned? Secretly elated?
It doesn’t really matter. The Internet saw the side-eyed glance and filled in the blanks.
Now, toddler Chloe’s face is one Google search away. She’s notorious. And real-life Chloe – now a teenager – is trapped in that notoriety.
I’ve never met Chloe. But I feel for her.
It’s no fun to have your narrative co-opted. To be typecast for one image, one depiction, one outcome you set into motion.
It can lead you to abandon an activity you’re just starting to master. It can strain relationships with those you share a last name with. It can drag you through the dirt out of the blue.
Notorious is no way to be.
Not long ago, I traveled with my father and my paternal grandparents to a small town in Missouri.
My father was born in this town, while my grandfather was in medical school. But the family moved away shortly thereafter.
The medical school’s homecoming was going on while we were in town, and the school hosted a 5K race as part of the festivities. Despite not knowing the town or the terrain, I signed up.
The race was old school, with the director firing a starting gun and noting finishing times on a stopwatch. The course proved to be a challenge, with a vast section of it traversing thick woods on the edge of town.
I was up against it. But in the end, I was the first to break the tape. I received a large plaque for my efforts – a plaque that sits front and center on my mantle today.
Winning that race was certainly a thrill. But the first emotion I felt after crossing the finish line was relief.
I’d just won a race down the street from both my father’s first home and the medical school my grandfather had attended.
In a strange way, my grandfather had given me this opportunity to excel athletically. And I’d honored that opportunity by bringing the family name to the winner’s podium.
Maybe the ping pong debacle wouldn’t hang over me for eternity. Perhaps I’d be notorious in family circles for something positive.
I hope my experience is not an anomaly. I hope others made notorious get a chance at redemption.
Yet, that hope carries a burden to become reality. A burden with two sides.
It’s on the notorious to seize the opportunity at a fresh start. But it’s also on all of us to offer them an open mind and a second chance.
Chloe deserves to be more than Side Eyeing Chloe, just like I deserved to be more than The guy who broke his grandfather’s shoulder playing ping pong.
Let’s stop willfully tying a snippet from the past to the infinite future. Let’s give each other the grace we deserve instead.
Notorious no more. That’s something worth getting behind.