My post today is inspired by Diana at dianeandlynne.wordpresscom and the wonderful stories she writes of her childhood.
It had been raining but now the morning was cool and overcast. My best friend Leslie and I were wearing raincoats and rubber boots, the kind you pull over your shoes. The boots were a good idea as it was muddy as we walked home from kindergarten that day. Houses were still going up in our neighborhood and mud appeared along with the construction.
Mud. It's like a magnet for kids. As Leslie and I walked by a building site next to my house, the mud puddles called to us, "Come splash in the water. It's okay, you have boots on."
We left the sidewalk. We splashed in the so-attractive muddy water, feeling the soft mud under our feet. Our feet slid, sinking a little into the mud. So fun, but we need to get home for lunch.
"Leslie, my foot's stuck!" I say.
"Give me your hand," she says, and pulls. And pulls. And pulls. My foot doesn't budge. I'm starting to feel a niggle of worry. Our bag of tricks for dealing with problems is tiny.
"I have to go home now," Leslie says.
"Okay," I answer. Leslie goes off down the street, home to her mother and little brothers and sisters and her lunch.
What to do? I start calling, "Help! Help!" I keep yanking, trying to got my foot loose. Panicking. What if no one hears me? I'm out of ideas. I keep yelling. My throat hurts, I feel the flood of tears ready to gush out, but I keep yelling as loud as I can.
Then I see my grandma walking towards me. Wiping her hands on her apron, she exclaims, "Land sakes, Becky, what happened? I thought I heard something, so I came out to see what it was."
Even before she pulls me out, I am so relieved. My grandma is quite round and not tall, but she is stronger than Leslie. She pulls, and with a sucking sound, my foot is free of the mud!
Grandma take me into our house. I'm feeling safe now, and it's lunch time.