DUG UP FROM THE ARCHIVES: Fun faaaact, "gambol" (SAT vocab alert!) means to frolic about.
The Friday before Thanksgiving break, with as much courage as I could muster walking up to a bunch of random middle schoolers on the playground, I asked, "Can I play tag with you guys?" And BAM; that was the beginning of a beautifully carefree friendship.
The girl on the left introduced herself: "Jimin, like Jiminy Cricket!" And the girl on the right: "Jamie." Together, they were Double J, spontaneity times two, the power duo.
Playing tag brought back memories of days elementary school, even early middle school, the sound of sneakers slapping concrete, frenzied sprinting across vast expanses of grassy fields.
For a good majority of the school year, especially during the winter months, if I were to drop by the park on a Friday afternoon, I could expect the two of them to be playing no-ground tag, and it was a comforting routine.
Casual reminder that the traditional populated park playground is a free-for-all land full of carefree adolescents who don't care you're feeling like a 3/10, that you showed up to school in your most becoming outfit of sweatshirt-sweatpants-sneakers. All that matters is that you're down to get a lil' dirty (grass stains, ripped jeans, or otherwise) and have fun. They'll brazenly call you (i.e.: me) out for crying when they see your red eyes, and chase you down the field even if your legs are twice the length of theirs. You go, kiddos.