kickball

Remember kickball?

I loved that game. My elementary school did not have playground equipment, so we played a lot of games during recess. Tag, jump rope, dodgeball, HORSE, Red Light/Green Light, Mother May I, and many others. In 5th grade, marbles was the rage. But mostly, kickball was king.

Everyone had their preferred method of having the ball pitched to them. Some liked bouncy and slow, others liked it smooth and fast. I preferred smooth, and a medium speed. If I didn't kick it right to someone, I could usually make it to 1st base. I don't think I ever kicked a homerun in my life, though.

I stopped playing kickball in 7th grade. (NOTE: I went to a K-8 Catholic school, and had recess through 8th grade.) I had already become the social misfit and outcast in my class, but I kept up with the kickball because I liked it. It mattered that I was picked last for teams, but not so much that I wanted to stop. And then one day, I fell while playing the outfield. Everyone laughed at me. I kept playing. A few weeks later, I slipped in the mud while chasing a ball, and was literally covered in mud. Again, everyone laughed and said cruel things, crushing what little self-esteem I had left at that point.

That was the last day I ever played kickball. After that, I spent recesses talking with the one friend I had, a girl named Rita who was a grade below me.

So, what brought this memory to mind today? Today, while running on campus, I passed a group of students who had set up a kickball game on the South Oval (an open, grassy area of campus, close to some of the dorms). They were using a makeshift diamond, with footballs and sweatshirts acting as bases, and a soccer ball as the kickball. They were having a lot of fun, and I couldn't help but smile as I watched them play while I ran by.

Oh man, did I want to join in!