A dear friend challenged me to start writing my memories down.  I have always wanted to do this, but I have decided to take this challenge. There are only two for now. I thought if I set these out, then just maybe then others will follow.  Thank you for walking with me.

 

Hanscom Park – I can still smell the scent of the pond scattered with a few seeking to find out how many fish really were swimming about its murky waters. The dandelions brighten the landscape as they chase the footprints of children throughout the park. Laughter bubbles along the pavilion as stories are shared. Dishes are passed across the table, fingers licked (sometimes twice). There stood grandma, tall… at the head of the table with her dainty German smile, grey curls in her aqua dress, pushing down the pain that so threatened her, serving up plates with my mother and aunts as my grandfather, with his round German face in his bib overalls and pipe discussed life with my dad and uncles while laughter filled the skies of their grandchildren.

 

5th Grade – downy clouds peppered the rich blue sky one weekend day as my sister and I dropped our bikes by the large metal frame.  Quickly our hands wrapped around chosen metal links as our denim bottoms dropped firmly into place on the thick blue plastic. Squeals echoed through the schoolyard. My eleven year old sister and I moved our feet forward and back, forward and back, challenging each other with each pass. I loved how my long sandy brown hair sailed like a flag. Yet, soon I tired.  I was happy when my sister offered that we explore the jungle gym. Off I jumped.

  As she climbed to the top and hung upside down, I sat below, looking for rocks. My fifth grade teacher’s aide told me that if I could find a matching set, she would take them and have a pair of earrings made for me. Well, that kept me busy.  Oh how I would run back and forth asking her if I had found a match! Once, I believe she thought I may have been close, but sent me looking still. I loved the way the pebbles felt between my fingers, their smooth texture across my palm.

  “KC” (my nickname growing up), “we’ve got to get going,” my sister jumped down.

  “Why?” My hands were full of rocks as I looked over.

  “See those boys over there?” She pointed to the far end of the playground, by the new elementary building.

  I threw my rocks down and stood up and dusted my hands. “Maybe they know some games.”

  Kris picked up her bike. “I don’t think so. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to go.” I set my left foot firm in the sand. “They could teach us new games.”

  “Fine. Five minutes, but then I’m going home and getting Dad.” Kris’ light brown hair glistened in the sun as she dropped her bike.

  “Hey girls, wanna play some games?” the seventeen year old let the words drip out of his mouth. He winked at the twin eight year old boys.

  “Kris! Games!” I smiled brightly at my sister.

  “No, Kim. Let’s go.” My sister was now on her bike.

  “I’m not leaving.” I declared, not realizing what I was saying.

  “Fine! I’m going to go get Dad!” Kris pedaled away fast.

  The tall boy wrapped his arm around me as the younger two ran ahead. They climbed upon the high wall adjacent to the older building. The newer addition sat five-hundred feet away, with no teachers to blow any whistles today. My new friend led me up the ramp, tears rushed down my face as he described the rules to this game. All the while I wanted my father to hurry up and come to my rescue.

 

 

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