It’s the summer of 2013. The sun is beaming on my cousins and me in my grandma’s front yard.  We were still young; me at the naive age of eight, no one older than thirteen. We always found a way to have fun outside while grown folk were in the house discussing “grown folk business.” That’s when we discovered the game Monkey in the Middle, a game in which two players toss a ball back and forth, with a player–the monkey–in the middle, attempting to retrieve the ball from either side. Whichever side the monkey retrieved the ball from, he’d then replace said person and they’d become the monkey. At first, the game seemed lighthearted and fun. Tossing a ball back and forth wasn’t something new, but the new addition of a third player changed the way we played catch forever. My cousins, mostly older, taller, and stronger than I always found ways to trick me, whether it’d be by pump-faking the ball, holding it over my head, or faking like they’d give it to me. The more I played as the monkey, the more I hated the game. It was an endless cycle of teasing. The game never seemed to be fun unless you had the ball, which I never did. I was surprised at how cruel and malicious people could be just to get a ball–or better yet, just to feel like they have power over your every move. I always felt like there was a deeper intention to the game. But I realized I had been playing Monkey in the Middle my entire life—just without the ball. Only now, it wasn’t just my cousins on the two sides–it was my mom and dad, friend and friend, brother and brother, mind and heart, life and death, strength and weakness. I had never learned how to be satisfied by picking a side. No matter what side I picked—if I did—someone would still be unsatisfied. If I retrieve the ball from player one, he’s upset because he’s in the middle. If I retrieve the ball from player two, he’s upset because he’s in the middle. Now you have to make him choose. When one side is calling your name and so is the other, it’s hard to pick. I thought there could be a balance I could find by maybe finding common ground–or in simpler terms, keeping the ball for myself, but at the end of the day, the monkey doesn’t keep the ball in the game, he always has to give it back. The monkey always has to choose, be chosen, or allow someone else to do the choosing.  But then again, that’s breaking the rules of the game. Stay in the middle until you pick a side. Make someone mad and satisfy no one. Repeat. Take it from me, the monkey, that’s how you play Monkey in the Middle.