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new! Events Calendar Oct \| Nov \| Dec Jan \| Feb \| Mar Apr \| May \| Jun List Your Event! in issue eleven Scintillations Playing Boggle Seduction in the Snow Curious Rain The Opposite of Peas Playing in the Vertical World Bring on Broadway (Parents) Snorkeling Past Fear You Won't Get Far In Those Shoes Legos Freedom From Five Feet Chasing Shadows Mozzarella No More! Letters FROM My Younger Self Moody Girl photography & artwork Dandelion, Elm, & Firefly Faeries Dog Wearing A Cone Apples Sun Petals & Sprawling Daisy Poppy Field workshops Play With Your Words Writing Workshop Making Friends With Money what you say about Be Real contributors Do You Want To Contribute To Be Real Magazine? take me back To The Cover To The Contents Page in every issue What Do You Think? Subscribe To Be Real future issues Issue 12: Synchronicity Issue 13: Danger Issue 14: Home Issue 15: Transitions previous issues	On summer nights, after dinner, my father would take us to the school down the street. It had an amazing playground with a long twisty slide, monkey bars, tire swings and a wobbly balance beam. My brothers and I would fight for the front seat. Most often my older brother won. Before backing out of the driveway, my father would open the sunroof and turn on sports radio. As Dad drove slowly down our street I would watch lights turn on, illuminating the insides of the neighbors houses. I searched the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of what happened while I was usually getting ready for bed. I often thought of my neighbor Molly and her mother who always called her in at 7 pm, even during the summer, forcing her into the tub. I smiled, grateful that my own bath was a long ways off. I watched in silence as moths dove towards the beams of the headlights. There was something forbidden and exciting about driving up to the mysteriously empty parking lot when school wasn’t in session. The purpleness of the sky made it even more enticing. The playground was all ours. During the nighttime I never had to wait for my turn. There were no mean boys threatening to put sand down my shirt, or girls telling me that if I didn't get the cootie shot I would die. On summer nights I was free of the bullies and mean cliques of girls. I could play house and not be mocked for still playing make-believe at 9, an age when I was supposed to have known better. The setting sun stretched my shadow making my legs long and my torso short. I kicked my superhuman legs out to the side, amazed at their length. I watched my shadow as I made signs with my extra long fingers, alternating “peace” signs with the sign for “I love you.” I would run as fast as I could and then suddenly stop long enough to try to catch my shadow, but every time I moved it moved with me. I chased my shadow to the swings, willing it to slow down. I would wiggle my bottom into the cradle of the seat. My thighs would stick to the plastic as I pumped as high as I could. My brothers joined me, one on either side. We would have swinging contests to see who could get the highest. I would beg my father to push me. He would roll his eyes. "You are a big girl. You know how to pump," he would say. But eventually he would give me a big push and I would swoop up so high that I imagined I could see over the top of the school, over the treetops. I worried that I would swing so high that I would wrap myself around the top of the swing set. The higher I went, the more my stomach would flip flop. I loved it. I squealed with scared delight, my voice echoing off of the concrete school building. Just as the purple sky began to turn navy, my father would announce that he could hear my mother calling us in. Even though we lived three miles from the playground I believed that he could hear her. My brothers and I would chase each other back to the car, once again scrambling for the front seat. On the way home we begged my father to take us on a mystery drive. My father would pretend to get lost and we would drive aimlessly until my younger brother fell asleep in the back seat. I rolled down the window, gulping up the cool night breeze. The cheepers sang loudly as our car drove by. I watched as fireflies threatened to illuminate their hiding places. I forced my hand out the window into the darkness, attempting to catch the air, just as I had tried to catch my shadow. But like my shadow, it always got away. We traveled down the dark, unknown streets, and I would search for landmarks that I recognized but couldn't find any in the darkness. Just when I thought we were hopelessly lost, our street would turn up. And we always made our way home.


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