Have you ever lied about something for so long that you actually forgot the truth?
I just realized that I have.
Fall 1994. Third Grade.
I love when memories are so vivid that you see them through the eyes of the chubby little person that you were when they happened…
It’s an overcast, fall day that threatens rain all day but never delivers. A breeze that carries just the smallest sent of winter. The noise of kids screaming and running all over the playground.
If I could travel back in time to that day, I would be so disappointed in the size and scale of the playground at Riverside Elementary. But, as it exists in my memory, it is huge.
The kickball diamond in the far corner overlooking the Mississippi River is the size of a major league baseball diamond.
Fresh wood chips that were spread over the summer for the school year.
The new playground equipment is state of the art. It’s got an awesome spiral slide that makes all the hair on your body stick up with static.
A cool zip line track that seemed to glide forever and 2 different sets of monkey bars (which I could never play on since I paired my weak upper body strength with my overweight adolescent body).
Then, there is the silver slide, the “big slide” that towers over the rest of the playground. It’s made out of metal, which means that the speed of the slide varied depending on the weather conditions.
On this particular day, the slide was a little sticky. Perfect conditions for tag.
Our games of tag always revolved around the slide. It had two ladders going to the top that led to dual slides that made a V.
This gave two options of escape from the kid who was “it” and, with the slide being sticky meant that you could control your speed.
I raced to the top of the slide and began my descent.
This is where my lie has erased my memory. Something happened on my ride that resulted with me laying face down on the ground. Continue reading