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If you ever stacked cups in gym class, blame my dad

The boxes came from Tokyo: first by tanker, then overland via container truck from a Pacific port, across the Continental Divide, and finally backed into a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac in a south Denver suburban enclave. This was a neighborhood with Razor scooters dumped in trimmed front lawns. Where family walks with […]

That means somewhere between five and eight percent of U.S. adults between the ages of 22 and 35 share the same core memory—and in the ensuing years have asked themselves, their friends, or social media the same question: Why did credentialed educational professionals make us do this ludicrous activity in gym class? The classics were all there: four-wheeled square scooters designed to give 80 percent of users elbow burn, dodgeballs primed to pop kids like me in the face, that large circus tent you toss above your head until it temporarily inflates so you can sit under it for a few seconds. Now 64 with a Colonel Sanders goatee and passion for intricate leather carving, my dad's brother has been at certain points in his life: a professor at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Clown College; a street mime in San Diego; a director of a Las Vegas magic show, performed entirely on ice; and a consultant for Japan's oldest and largest circus.

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