HopScotch

This past week, the apartment complex finally cut down the overgrown bushes surrounding our smothered balcony. We requested they take care of it last summer when we first moved in, but I guess it wasn't in the budget. Now that we can actually SEE out the sliding glass door, a brave new world has opened up to us.

Today I watched three little girls at play. The smallest was a honey-colored blonde dressed in pedal pusher jeans and a light blue Cinderella tee shirt. The tallest was a chunky brunette with sun burned cheeks, dressed in bright pink and wearing silver plastic slippers. The third little girl (they were all under the age of five) had a white top, a brown skort, and red flip flops.

They chased each other around yelling 'tag, yerit,' took turns riding a purple two wheeler with training wheels and white streamers dangling from the handlebars, and bounced in and out of the townhouse third door down from the end of the sidewalk. Finally, they squatted down on the concrete slabs lining the row of townhouses and began drawing with their chalk.

I watched with interest to see what art they were so intent on producing. Would it be castles and ponies? Cartoons and clowns? They were careful to avoid the pristine new squares, gleaming white under the hot sun and surrounding by little brown patches of dirt. They consulted each other, pointed, erased lines with their shoes, concentrating so hard they didn't even see the calico cat wandering past.

After some time, they all disappeared into their houses. I craned my neck to see what they had drawn, but I couldn't make it out. One by one the house doors slapped shut as they bounded back outside, each with a small stuffed animal in their hand. And then the game began. HopScotch!

Wow - I haven't played that in some time. How fondly I remember living in Fort Covington up by the Canadian border. Ours was a closeknit neighborhood, a ready made covey of friends to hang around with. There were the Stewart boys (Jimmy was closer to my age), Debbie and Susan Fish, the Hunter girls (Claire was in my grade), Tammy Smallman, Leslie and Curtis Whitman, and a couple others.

While there were always little jealousies and fights coming and going, we all managed to work things out. Manys the night we played SPUD and Hide-and-go-seek until dark, reluctantly tearing ourselves away when our parents called us inside. We rode bikes together, made up adventures to act out in the backyards, learned to jump rope fancy, and yes, played hopscotch together. Even the boys played, showing off their agility in jumping and their prowess at hitting the right space.

Tammy had a pair of worn BusterBrown shoes whose soles were perfect for hopscotching. I envied her those saddle shoes, wishing I had something better than my cheap sneakers. But what I lacked in equipment, I made up for in siblings. There were four of us then, and we were all part of the gang.

We each had a perfect stone to cast, one that wouldn't skitter across the sidewalk, but would hit the space we wanted and stay put until we bobbed our way there on one foot, weaving down and back, careful not to violate the chalk lines. Sometimes we got hopping so fast we lost our balance, collapsing in a heap on the ground, laughing until the tears ran down our cheeks, agreeing that we were definitely 'out' - and maybe that would be enough to catapult us on to the next game.

I haven't 'hopped' in years. Haven't even thought about it since I never had any girls, and the boys were more interested in Matchbox trucks and action figures. I wondered. Under cover of night, I slipped out the back door and nonchalantly wandered over to the sidewalk. There was the board, just as they had left it. I slid a small pebble from my pocket and tossed it to the first square with the crooked 'one' drawn on it in pink chalk, jumped over it to the second square, turned, picked up the stone, hopped into the first square and back to the starting line.

Piece of cake. The full moon winked at me from above, and I waited quiet and still while two men got out of a car and entered the first townhouse. No sense letting anyone else see my silliness. I worked the second and third squares in silence, glancing around to make sure I was unobserved. By the time I was halfway through the board, I discovered I was humming a little tune softly out loud.

I wondered if any of my sisters had indulged lately. With abandon, I completed the board, picked up my pebble and headed back inside, tossing the stone at the door. Not half bad if I do say so myself. Even without the BusterBrowns.