Running as fast as I could, I zigzagged across the field. I dodged and ducked, and stayed just out of reach from the grabbing hands. I stumbled and fell, but quickly rolled away from my pursuer and bounced back onto my feet before he could catch me. I charged toward a short stone wall and leapt over it, then I slid down a hill of soft grass to safety. I touched the light pole and cried out, “Home free!” It was the greatest game of tag I ever played.

It was a warm Sunday evening after a church dinner. There must of been two dozen kids on the lawn behind the social hall. At 7 years old, I was one of the younger kids playing. I was completely absorbed in the moment. I was free of any thoughts except that of tagging or avoiding getting tagged. The exhilaration I felt as I ran, laughed, and screamed was pure unadulterated joy.

Then my parents called my name, interrupting my reverie. Sweating and nearly breathless, I ran quickly over to them to find out what they wanted so that I could get right back to the game. Dad said, “It’s time to leave.”

I was stunned. “Just a few more minutes,” I pleaded, looking over my shoulder toward the melee of shrieking kids where the game was still going strong.

 …