Red Rover--Glad It's Over!Jan 09 '05 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line "Bad touches" aren't necessarily sexual ones--they can, instead, be getting forced into recreation that's uncomfortable/painful!
Intro: The following piece has appeared in a number of places, both in Cyberspace and in real life, and, at the bottom of the piece, you'll find the URL taking you to where it appears in a wonderful online publication called PearlSoup.com--a place I'd like to get back to writing more for, as it's a very positive place that deserves more attention. One more thing: It seems to me as if I've really been roasting my cousin, David, a lot lately, so I want to make it very clear that, while he has been known to have been a pest on various occasions when we were growing up, he was still very precious to me back then and remains very precious to me now. All of my cousins are a wonderful, thoughtful bunch of people, and I wouldn't trade a one of them for any other cousins. On yes! And my cousin, Jimmy, will be getting "his" very shortly!!! I have a lot of happy memories of childhood games--but I'll have to confess that playing Red Rover wasn't one of them! I remember being out on the playground at recess one day when I was in fourth grade (1963) doing the things I really liked to do, when--all at once--Mrs. M (my teacher) and Mrs. B (the first grade teacher), who were acting as playground supervisors that day, started blowing on their whistles and announcing that EVERYBODY in third and fourth grades was to gather for a game of Red Rover. How I wished, at that point, that I had been around on the sidewalk on the east side of the school, because that would have been like Canada to a Vietnam draft-dodger. But--NOoooooooo!--I had to be in that part of the playground within hearing distance of the enthusiastic whistle-blowers! Now, when it came to Red Rover, I'd been there, done that, and had no desire ever to do it again. So I did what I thought MIGHT work: I tried to squeeze my chubby, little body behind the nearest tree to keep out-of-sight and out-of-mind. DIDN'T WORK!!! Mrs. M made a beeline for me and told me to get over to the Red Rover game immediately. ROUND ONE: I was "lucky" enough to be in the spot between my could-be-very-annoying cousin, David, and his best friend, Gary, a preacher's kid (the ULTIMATE preacher's kid, because BOTH of his parents were ministers). The third-graders began their chant: "Red Rover, Red Rover! We'll send Michael over!" Well, Michael was just a little squirt of a guy, but I knew he had enough weight to him to cause a great deal of pain when he hit--so I pulled free when I saw Michael nearing the fourth-grade line. Michael went through--much to the disgust of my classmates. It was a good thing that we were really a close and forgiving family rather than just an assortment of kids who happened to go to school together or I might be getting garbage dumped on my lawn and eggs decorating my car to this very day. ROUND TWO: Because they had won the first round, the third-graders got to go again. As David and Gary took a death-grip on my hands in preparation, I heard in my head what I hoped the chant wouldn't sound like--but what it DID turn out to sound like: "Red Rover, Red Rover! We'll send RHONDA over!!!" When I hear about what mean-spiritedness roly-poly kids face in our public schools today, it's rather touching to know that they had traits to be admired and developed back in my childhood days. However, at the time, I was DEFINITELY NOT impressed with the fact that Rhonda--a strong, little Mac Truck--was finding her niche in life that afternoon. As my worst fears packaged in an eight-year-old body headed straight towards what had been the weak link in the chain during ROUND ONE, I struggled to get free of David and Gary. No such good luck! I felt my wrist pop with pain as Rhonda hit and wasn't able to break the chain. Twenty-some fourth-graders cheered--one pain-racked fourth-grader bawled like Lucy Riccardo. Mrs. M told me that, if I couldn't get along with my classmates, I could just go back to the classroom and spend the rest of recess in my seat. I walked towards the school building, blubbering and holding my sore wrist. This kind of treatment wouldn't be permitted today--in fact, I could have ended up one rich, little girl in today's atmosphere. Even so, when I think of today's schools and my own school experience (even with that well-meaning-but-not-right exercise in character-building and playing-cooperatively initiated that one afternoon by Mrs. M & Mrs. B) my heart breaks from knowing what today's kids face more than it did from the pain of Red Rover. http://www.pearlsoup.com/?fuseaction=pearls.view&pearlID=747  |
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