Joyce Alade

Freshman Composition
L. Diomande
Reflective Essay 2nd Draft
February 19, 2015
The Growing Season
Summer 2005
Tag! Youre it, Joyce! Jeremy yelled. Well thats disappointing, I thought. I didnt think
anyone would bother to look behind this rose bush. Nonetheless, I merrily chased Jeremy and his
sister, Tanya, across my familys front lawn. My older sister, Emily, was nowhere to be found.
Earlier, we all decided to play tag before grudgingly walking to the summer day camp at a school
nearby. Our parents forced us to go there every day so we wouldnt be left home all alone, watch
television all day and do nothing. I think they also hoped camp would keep us out of trouble. Just
as I was about to tag Tanya, Emily rolled out on her bike, threatening to run us little kids over.
Jeremy and I, the youngest of the bunch, ran away terrified towards the backyard.
Eight was an awkward age. People always thought I was older because of my height. In
addition to that I was bashful; a trait that was hard to discard since no one in the neighborhood
was my age. That was why I always ended up playing with Emilys friends; ten year olds who
are not only older, but faster and smarter as well. Jeremy was nine; officially making me the
baby of the pack. Being the youngest of the group meant that I was left out a lot, even though
Emily usually tried to include me. Emily and Tanya would often go off on their own to hang out
with John and James, Siamese twins, codenamed: Ice-Cream Boys. I was still uncertain as to
why the girls called them that, but it wasnt too difficult to discern. Emily would stay on the
phone with Tanya for hours and sometimes I would hear her use the Ice-Cream Boys real names.
The boys would often chase Emily and Tanya around aimlessly on their bicycles. Fortunately,

sports and games were something we all enjoyed and since games are more fun with more
people, I could always count on being included.
I was only eight, but I knew these fun summer activities with my sister and her friends
would all come to an end. We were all tomboys then but, I knew how people changed as they
grew older. I saw it happen to my oldest sister Kimberly. She became more concerned with how
she looked than winning a game or beating the boys which was basically the ultimate goal of
life. That was why I made Emily promise me she would never turn into a girl, or at least a girlygirl. I made her promise that we would always find time for sports, bike rides and each other; just
as we always had the summers before.
So, although terrorized while Emily barreled towards Jeremy and me on her bike to
prevent Tanya from being tagged, I was also really happy because she was keeping her promise,
because I had been included, and also because being scared to death was kind of fun. Just as
Emily reached us, Kim called us in for breakfast. I guess she was in a good mood this morning.
Kim is sixteen, a full-fledged teenager. We did not take her acts of kindness for granted because
they were rare and also because she was an amazing cook. Infinitely better than the heated frozen
breakfast foods served at camp. I was convinced the Camps eggs tasted like washing machine
water, although, I had never tasted washing machine water before.
The only good things about summer camp were the physical activities. The worst part of
summer camp, even worse than the watery, cardboard box eggs, was the math. Camp counselors
force us to do math problems in stuffy classrooms on sweltering summer days. Id always feel
indignant when math time came around. It simply didnt seem fair. I always received good
grades and never had to go to summer school. Should not that alone make me exempt from even
touching a pencil during this transient carefree season? I struggled to keep these thoughts to

myself; if campers got in trouble or refused to do work, we could be barred from physical
activities that day. That was simply too high a price to pay.
I do not mean to gloat but, I was the fastest kid in my group at summer camp. We were
divided by age, so here, my older sister could not beat me. In my group, there was finally
something I excelled at and did better than anyone else: running. This was validated whenever
we had races at camp because I would always win. During relay races, coach would always put
me in a position where I could help my team catch up if we were behind. I enjoyed cheering my
teammates on and I relished being the person everyone could count on in a clutch. I felt proud as
the coach and counselors recommended that I try out for the track team when grew old enough.
I loved running. Right before a teammate hands me the baton or some adult yells, Go!
Id feel queasy and nauseous; I was certain I would lose; certain I was delusional and that I only
told myself I was fast to compensate for the fact that I was talentless. Then, I heard the word
Go! and I swore the earth suspended its rotation the moment Id start to pump my legs. The
people on the sidelines looked hazy, as if seeing through a drunken lens. The sounds of their
cheers were drowned out by the pat-pat of my feet as they hit the ground. I would only hear my
feet as they moved from toe to heel. I had tunnel vision. Someone stood at the finish line with
their arms spread wide, hands wide open on either side, waiting for a winner. The world melted
away and I was immersed in a bath of soothing calm and empirical elation. Paradoxically, the
physical exertion and emotional pressure running required made me feel free. I believed if I ran
fast enough, my feet would ascend from the asphalt covered earth and Id create my own orbit;
Id break the constraints of time and space and travel to the past where Id reverse the adverse
memories into exceptional ones. I could prevent Emily and Tanya from ever growing up at all so
we could run together forever, drunk on happiness. The elation waned when I heard the sound of

my hand collide with the mans hand at the finish line; a resounding SLAP! I won. It always
came as a surprise but, it was good to be humble because pompousness is rather ugly attire. Also,
it is easy to get hurt when you are puffed up with pride. As I walked back, I immersed myself in
the crowd of congratulations a sea of unrecognizable faces. A few kids cried, No fair! Her legs
are too long! And I realized I had confused talent with tallness.
Summer 2013
I rode my bike today and every weekday this month; Id ride to and from work when it
didnt rain. It was not fun riding alone. I was all too cognizant of eyes and convinced that
everyone was watching me as I rode. I often recalled the olden days when I would ride bikes
with my sisters friends. There were so many of us then. With them I didnt care who stared, we
were cool, we were unstoppable, we had safety in numbers. Then, they grew up; I guess my
mentality still had not caught up.
I hardly run anymore. So you could call me a liar. Why not? My conscience had for
breaking that eight year old kids promise. Yet, the softer voice in my head dared to defy what
the significantly louder voices had said. Emily and Tanya grew too old for summer camp and
applied for jobs and started working together; leaving me behind once again. I begged them to
ride bikes on the weekends. They did at first; until a few times each month dwindled to nothing.
They no longer had time for childish games few of which could be played alone. You cant
spiral a football to yourself or volley a ball over nothing to no one. It seemed that even my
imagination had forsaken me, its absence compelling me to me to accept that the days of my
youth had ended. Sometimes, I would tie a jump rope to one end of our fence, hold the other end
in my hand and jump while turning the rope simultaneously. Turn. Jump. Turn. And that was fun
- for a while.
Summer 2014

I had to take the train to work, but I still rode my bike sometimes, around the pond park
nearby, at times when the people were scarce and their gaze less intense.
Tag youre it! We never really stopped playing. Tag time to choose a high school, find a
job and flesh out your resume! Tag time for college! I was tagged into adulthood in a game I had
no idea I was playing. The rules had changed; each move altered the future. The consequences
applied to the real world. If we were run over we didnt lose the game we lost our life or at least
the ability to support ourselves financially for a little while - possibly even forever. Growing up
was not something I could avoid or hide from in the rose bushes of rosy retrospection. I could
not run from the new loads of responsibility impinged upon me. The elation of such flight is
temporary and the conundrum remains.
Although I still held on to relics of my past, I realized what my life had become. Tying a
rope to a fence and jumping while simultaneously turning the rope. Multitasking to handle all
those new responsibilities left room for little else. Life grew tiring and it was fun, at first until
it wasnt. Once the novelty wore off, the monotony seeped in. Turn. Jump. Turn.