The Relay Race

Sometime around June came fun day; the 21st or 22nd, weather permitting. The countdown to this day was something worthy of an advent calendar treatment, with little windows revealing chocolate in the shape of summer sports. The days before I would dream in badminton shaped bubbles and drool over set-up hoop jumping obstacles. Come the day before and I had my nike shorts laid out with my northern getaway t-shirt. Water was in the freezer, the orange wedges were cut, and my ankle socks were clean. On the morning of fun day I buzzed. Remember gatorade containers with watered down orange drink and little dentist cups?

Games on Fun Day (with a very intentional capitalization) were relay races. In the assigned teams, a soup of grade 1,2,3, and 4 students, led by a mature grade 5 leader, we would pick a team name. Team names never were and rarely are better than something like "The Awesomes" or "Team Kick Butt". I was always on the team with the most athletic people ever. The gymnasts and rep soccer forward right-wings; the kids who played captain. I slowed down the line, the first to drop the egg and the last to pass the baton, the wettest head and the emptiest bucket.

I was just filling up a pot with the water from the clogged sink of our trailer and walking it down the steps and throwing it in the bush and then walking up the steps and filling up the pot and so on and so forth and I remembered Fun Day. Parts of today are like a relay race, but not the parts where I feel like I'm slowing a team down and my teammates are bullies.