If we’re going to be technical about things, we can say that I’m the older of two children. My brother is 13. Of course, for all practical intents and purposes, it works out that I’m the oldest of four children. I was also raised with two cousins, who are 26 and 18, and who may as well be my sisters. So there are four of us who share what we might call a sibling bond.
That being established, I have a question for the universe. WHY, of the four of us, am I the one who has all the misadventures? I’m the one who falls out of trees, slips on rocks, sprains knees while rollerblading. I’m the one who got chased out of the park by a demonic rabbit, got chased out of a camp by an evil badger, and had to jump off a footpath to avoid stampeding geese. I have bumps, bruises, and scratches from tearing around outdoors and fingernails stained just slightly pinkish from the juice of the wild blackberries I found on Sunday. I have more freckles this summer than I’ve had in any summer in years.
But shouldn’t these things be spread at least somewhat evenly amongst all four of us? I mean, demographically, the 13-year-old boy should have more of these misadventures than the 28-year-old woman, wouldn’t you think? But no, I have all of them. Apparently Fate finds me to be an amusing plaything.
But you know what? I am having a blast.
Bring on the bumps, the bruises, the scratches from the blackberry thorns. Bring on the dirty feet and the grass stains. I will take all of it! Bring on the stampeding geese flopping their feet at breakneck speed, bring on the growly badger, even! I can run away! Bring it all, bring the sun that gives me freckles and the wind that turns my hair into a mess. I want all of it.
It’s summertime and I’m going out to play.