Pecking Order

There was a time in Elementary School that during recess, when, for that sanctimonious time apart, children and adult took leave of one another, I ruled the playground.

I was the “Bulldog” champion.

Coveted by my peers, scorned by outsiders, and praised by my admirers for my swift and agility, I ruled the time between 12-1pm. I wasn’t like the other peer groups: the sports freaks, the dancers, the actors, the singers; the lexicographers, the mathematicians, or the stylist. I was the Bulldog. I was the child whom, when everyone was captured–selected by the “it leader” to assist him or her in rounding up the other players in the game, that took up to 20 boys and girls to capture and bring down.

This was a not a game of strength or ferocity, but of strategy, speed, and agility. It was a game of tag between 10-20 lumbering cows and 1 squirrel.

I was that squirrel, and did I not scurry, frustrate and perplex those easily confused cows everyday–until graduation.

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