I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, and attended Kingswood Elementary School.
(I was sad to learn recently that the school had been torn down.)
I walked to school to each day – usually with my friends, or not, if we had a fight.
In sixth grade I fell in love with a fifth grader. I don’t even remember his name, but once he gave a flower to one of my friends, to give to me. I was swooning all day.
I had a teacher named Mrs. White and another named Mr. Friend.
I got a lot of “Talks too much” on my report card, and my favorite thing was stopping at a little store to buy candy treats on my way home from school.
My lovely summer afternoons were spent in our backyard, where there was a worn-down playhouse and an apple tree. I had picnics with friends and played with Barbies at the park and imagined which rock star I would marry one day.
Recently I came across this old legend about dandelions, which reminded me of the kinds of games I would play when I was little:
Pick a dandelion puff and turn in the direction where your beloved lives. Blow once on the flower. If even a single seed remains, it means the one you care for thinks of you, too. Then pick a second dandelion and blow again; the number of seeds that remains foretells the number of children you will have.