Flash Back Friday

When I was a child, living in Memphis, I played outside a lot. From the ages of 7 to maybe 13 I was riding bikes and walking barefooted in the dirt and grass.

Spending summers in cut offs, making toys from rope and sticks, throwing rocks, drinking water from green garden hoses, constructing stick homes in the crevices formed by the roots of the giant oak trees, catching lightening bugs, collecting earthworms after rain storms, playing in the rain letting my cotton candy thick wavy puffy hair swell to its full expansion, being one with the outdoors, being a southern kid. Countless mosquito bites, scrapes, cuts, bruises and one pair of brand new Levis torn in the crotch from jumping a fence…my Mother decided she’d had enough. “This has to stop!” She told me. “You can’t keep tearing up clothes and coming home cut up. You’ll be a young lady soon. You don’t want to be covered in scars. No more skateboard, no more rollerblading.” I didn’t feel all that upset. Or at all really. I just accepted it. I felt really bad for destroying those Levis and Skateboarding was hard anyways. Plus, I didn’t like all the bruises either.

She signed me up for softball and basketball instead…. I didn’t feel bad enough about destroying all those new clothes to pretend I liked these sports. And I NEVER went to basketball practice. Ever.