by Dwayne Phillips
May 20, 2008 - 2008-021
“Tag! “You’re it!” came the cry from the boy.
He raced by Tommy, slapped his shoulder firmly, and continued his run to the flag pole in front of the school building.
Tommy lost his balance due to a failed attempt to dodge the tag. He fell to the ground and rolled in the grass. He climbed from the ground and stood stumbling about trying to regain his bearings. All the while - and contributing to his physical stupor - he laughed. He roared with laughter as only a 7-year-old boy can laugh.
Tommy Simpson loved to play tag. Dash, dart, and dodge. Hurl your body this way and that. Touch and be touched by your friends. Tag was joy.
Tommy stopped his roaring laugh long enough to stabilize himself. The other boys and girls were safe at either the flag pole or the steps at the front entrance of the school. Tommy turned his back to them and counted out loud from one to five. He turned to face his friends who were now running about.
Tommy ran to a point mid-way between the two bases. He veered to his right as there were more bodies in that direction. Each body, however, eluded Tommy.
Tommy laughed. His laughter blended with the squeals and giggles of a dozen 2nd graders.
Two boys remained off base. Their distance from the bases dared Tommy to tag them. Tommy took the bait and chased them in vain. His hefty body did not move with their speed and grace. Each of his lunges only tagged the air. Regardless, he loved the effort.
Then the game changed.
“Tubby Tommy,
Tubby Tommy.
Tubby Tommy rolls around;
Tubby Tommy weigh a thousand pounds.”
Tommy looked at the boys and girls standing on the school steps. They were pointing at him, at his large round stomach. They were laughing at him. It was no longer a laugh of joy, but a laugh of derision. Each laugh cut Tommy.
Tommy stopped laughing. He charged after one of the boys with vicious intent. Tommy still couldn’t tag his adversaries. He grunted and strained and failed repeatedly.
Tommy charged up the stairs of the school’s entrance and ran down the hallway to the boy’s bathroom. He stood in front of the sink washing his hands for 15 minutes until the end-of-recess bell rang.
Tommy Simpson hated playing tag and never played it again.
* * * * *
Tommy sat at his desk on a clear Spring day. The sign on his office door read:
Dr. Thomas Simpson, D.Ed.
PRINCIPAL
Tommy
was trying to read teacher evaluations, but the call of Spring rang in
his ears. There was another faint noise in the air. Tommy dropped his
papers and raised his head. Giggles and squeals. Yes, only 2nd graders
at recess could make those sounds. The joy pulled Tommy to the window.
Boys and girls were running in circles flailing their arms at the air. Tommy smiled, then he heard the words “Tag! You’re it!”
Tommy scowled. He returned to his desk, sat, and firmly typed a memo on his computer. Dr. Thomas Simpson barred the game of tag from school grounds. He monitored the recess sessions personally to ensure the ban was enforced.
Ten days later, Tommy drove his car from the school parking lot. He braked at the STOP sign two blocks from school. Children’s laughter pulled his mind from future worry back to the present. Tommy lowered his window and looked to his left towards the laughter.
There was a pile of backpacks at each edge of a vacant lot. Children age 6 through 12 ran about shouting, squealing, and laughing.
Tommy’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the steering wheel. A tear rolled down one cheek. The “beep beep” of a car horn startled Tommy. He looked forward and drove down his road.
Behind him, the air was punched by intermittent joyful cries of “Tag! You’re it!”