Child's Play

Tuesdays are my day to be Coach. The rest of the week, I'm "Mister Caven." Yesterday I spent the day acquainting various groups of children how to do the "Ro Sham Bo Relay." For most of our kids, this is a simple enough transition, since we tend to use Ro Sham Bo to solve most, if not all, of the conflicts on our yard. Then we add in the relay race element, and we've got a fast-paced game for kids from five to fifty. I know they liked it because at least three different kids asked me, when the P.E. period was over, "Can we play this at recess?"
That's pretty high praise. Instead of simply chasing one another around the playground, or waiting for their turn to shove or be shoved, our kids seek out games to play. We have soccer, Wiffle Ball, four square, hula hoops, jump ropes and over-sized racquetball. Add all these to the playstructure and the occasional kickball game, and you end up with a group of elementary students who rarely complain that "there's nothing to do."
This wasn't always the case when I was their age. Columbine Elementary had a very large playground that wrapped around the school, with the primary grades confined to a smaller section with slides, swings, and climbing structure just their size. With the addition of a set of teeter-totters and a pretty wicked merry-go-round, you might think that there would be no time spent simply standing around. Not true. Without any specific instruction, the youngest of us were left to wonder what we could do after we had gone back and forth, up and down, then round and round.
Consequently, by second grade, I my interest in the various amusement apparatus had waned. That's when imaginations took over. The girls played horses. The boys played army. The jungle gym was either a great place to hitch up your ponies or good cover from the Nazis machine guns. But the time I remember best was when the boys and girls came together and, via my morbid inspiration, we decided to recreate Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds." At least this was how I imagined it. I was part of an ill-tempered and vengeful flock of seagulls, bent on pecking the eyes out of any and everyone who came close. To accomplish this, I zipped up my jacket and pulled my arms inside, leaving my sleeves to flap mercilessly as I tossed my shoulders to and fro. This was all very impressive and terrifying until I stumbled and fell flat on my face. With my arms compressed inside my jacket, there was to way to break my fall, and I landed with all my weight with my elbows in my stomach. Every ounce of breath rushed out of me and I lay there for what seemed like minutes before any of my hapless victims noticed that I had crashed.
I remember being rolled over on my back by a friendly face, and Miss Hoff rushing out to see how I was: battered, bruised, but mostly embarrassed. I was no vengeful seagull. I was a seven-year-old boy with the wind knocked out of him. How I wish that someone had been there to teach me the Ro Sham Bo Relay.