Last night, my roommate and I, under orders from certain New Years Resolutions, headed to the Regional Fitness Center to run around a bit. We decided to play badminton, which is great because you run around enough to get a work out, but you have enough fun that it doesn't feel like work.
Well, we were batting the birdie back and forth with more humor than skill, when a group of five boys, two of whom were international students, walked up and asked us if they could join. We said sure, assuming that two of them would assemble and oppose the two of us. To our surprise, all five of them clustered together on the other side of the net and proceeded to take us on.
Let me tell you, it was a lot of fun.
The birdie was smashed back and forth, often twirling in midair as rackets swished by, missing by entire feet.
Boys collided with boys on the other side, boys fell, laughing.
Serves were delivered out of order and overhand, often with fluorishes and mighty leaps.
No one, it seemed, could understand what any other person said, but it didn't seem to matter.
We were just seven college students having fun.
To be completely honest, it was the first time that I've really interacted with international students.
Not because I have anything against them, but because I'm always worried that I'll do something or say something they won't understand, or vice versa.
Badminton, even in rude form, I have learned, is easily translated into any language.
In fact, and you're probably going to groan at this next part, our entire time in the RFC reminded me of that moment in Father of the Bride 2, when Steve Martin and Martin Short are in the hospital running back and forth between Steve's wife and Steve's daughter, who are both in labor at the same time. Suddenly, Martin Short, in his funny Franck voice, grabs Steve Martin by the shoulders and says, "George...we're bonding, aren't we?" And Steve Martin smiles a slow smile of recognition and says "Yes, Franck. I think we are."
Hospital, badminton court. Same thing, really.
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