“Cotton candy at the village fair. Looks and tastes to me like sugar air. Mama, Mama, won’t you buy me some. Yummy yummy yummy yum yum yum.”

My friends and I used to sing that song on the school playground. It accompanied this game we made up. One person would stand in the middle of a square and the others would walk around the edges, singing. When they got to a particular side of the square, they had to run across before the one in the middle could grab them and pull them in. (It was a lot more exciting that it sounds, trust me.) It was great fun.

But swinging was probably our favorite playground activity. We would race to see who could go the highest. We measured this according to who cast their shadow the farthest along the ground. It wasn’t a very reliable method, since it always inspired heated arguments. I wouldn’t recommend it, in case you and your friends are thinking about having swing races.

At my school, K-5 students used to get three recess periods a day. Three? Can that be right? That seems a bit excessive now, but then it was absolutely required.

At that age, I couldn’t imagine surviving without these periodical reprieves from the grind of elementary education. I pitied the poor middle schoolers (who only got to go outside at lunch time, if they ate fast enough) and high school students (who usually only ventured outside for P.E.). I was pretty sure I would shrivel up and die before I succumbed to their fate.

But, alas, over the years I did succumb.

It used to be you could find me wandering around the great outdoors, having free time with my family and friends, whenever we had free time. We would wander down to the creek, build little huts and bake apples and potatoes over a fire. We would go on exploring expeditions in the fields and woods around our houses. We would play in the barn. We would go on bike rides and walks. We would play hide-and-seek in the tall rows of corn.

But then I got busy. Or at least I started to think I was busy. Too busy to play outside. Too tired to play outside. We’ll play outside later. Let’s go inside and watch TV. Or a movie. Pretty soon movies were the main form of entertainment when I got together with people.

As the years passed, we found more mature ways to entertain ourselves. We didn’t play anymore. We may have played sports. We may have played in the band, or acted in a play. But we didn’t just play. No, no, we had to have structure. Simply playing was childish.

Last week I was walking home when I happened upon a swing set standing in a big, grassy median in the middle of a residential section. I couldn’t turn down the chance to partake of one of my favorite childhood activities.

I jumped in the swing and pumped my legs, sending me soaring into the air. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was not in the middle of a residential jungle but back on the playground, all of 8 years old, well into my first recess of the day with two more to go. I couldn’t quite imagine it, possibly because in reality it was such a dreary day, and every day back then seemed to be bright and sunny.

I opened my eyes. Whew! I felt a tad bit dizzy. I guess I’d hit the old swings a little too hard after being off of them for so long. For too long.

I’m not too busy. I’m tired of pretending I am. I’m tired of always diligently doing the things I don’t want to do and never getting around to the things I do want to do.

I want to go on a nice, pointless walk. I want to be gone for several hours, possibly get lost and most definitely get dirty.

I want to climb a tree. That used to be so awesome, just to go outside and climb a tree. (I hope it’s not illegal to climb the campus trees.)

I want to get outside and KICK A RUBBER BALL AROUND ON CENTRAL CAMPUS. (Sorry, I’ve been trying to get my friends to do that with me for a couple weeks, and they’ve been a little reluctant. “It’s too late, Juli.” “It’s 2 a.m., Juli.”)

I think I’ve proved that I can behave like an adult. I can make responsible decisions. I can make sacrifices to accomplish a goal. I can make polite conversation, regardless of my inner discourse. I can accept that these skills are possibly valuable to (certainly expected of) an adult in today’s world. I can accept the fact that to be a successful adult, you might have to make due with a few less recesses.

But I refuse to give up playing all together. When I’m 70 years old, I sincerely hope to be found aimlessly wandering around the countryside or hanging out at a playground. Granted, I’ll probably be arrested or taken to a mental hospital, but I’m sure it’ll all get straightened out in the end.

My base desire to play hasn’t changed so much from elementary. I’m a bit bigger and a bit more lazy. I’ve learned to suppress and control myself. But I’m still the same singer, swinger and wanderer that I used to be.

So if I call you for bail in about fifty years, please be compassionate. It’s the adultish thing to do.

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Juli Hisel is an undeclared sophomore from Richland.