Journal 1: Childhood in the Park

The park I remember isn't much of a park. It is a playground from my elementary school. I went to John H. Vohr Elementary in Gary, Indiana. There is no other place on Earth like it. Every memmory I have in that playgroundd is warm. Just like the weather usually was. very warm. With floaty little pieces of cotton in the air. The sun was always beaming on certain little patches. Sometimes illuminating the green grass, and sometimes frying the concrete. As hot as it sometimes was, there was always a cool breeze. A breeze that ran through your hair and whispered fun in your ear. Different parts of the playground smelled differently. I smelled the logs of the log cabin, the trees from the nearby patch of forest, or aloe vera gel. There were aloe vera gel leaves in that forest and whenever we cut ourselves on the stick-a-bugs we would fill the cut with the oozy stuff from inside the leaf. I could always hear the pattering of young feet. Constantly. I could hear the screeching of the old swings. I could hear the swish of children going down the slide. Yet all these wonderful things are left behind, in another place. But maybe. Just maybe. Some other child on that playground at John H. Vohr Elementary in Gary, Indiana will share the same memmory as me. Share my memmory of the play ground.