As children we lived from recess to recess. The monotony of multiplication tables and world geography was tolerable only because we were rewarded with twenty to thirty minutes of glorious freedom on the playground.When the bell sounded we would hurriedly divide ourselves into kick-ball teams and race each other to the big field behind the blacktop basketball courts. In a heated game dust would fly up in the wake of powerful runners, leaving behind a cloud of anticipation for the eager faced spectators.
"Is he out? Where's the ball?"...
Marbles were played on the lawn that sloped down from the third grade building. If we were lucky and the groundskeeper had mowed the lawn recently, there would be delicate mounds of cut grass scattered about the area. The heavy marbles would roll-crashing into the clumps like Zeus' lightening bolt-destroying the perfect knolls, grass particles sailing in all directions.
*Marble playing was restricted a few years later when two fifth grade boys got into a rowdy fist fight over whose steely was whose. Their names are long forgotten, but the legacy continues.
Ah, recess. I'm longing for a little slice of that childhood heaven. Play time. Free time. What a wonderful concept. What would you do with that glorious break in the day?
About 3 weeks ago I was doing laundry down at the Fluff and Fold and I found a marble in the washing machine. My first thought was your memory, only my memory a few years later. I couldn't remember the last time I held a marble in my hand. No one was around. It was 9:30pm so I couldn't resist throwing it across the room just to see it bounce and ping all over the place.
ReplyDeleteMy boys have marbles. They love them. Not at school though. Remember elastics? I loved elastics.
ReplyDeleteThanks for Rewinding at the Fibro.