“No, you’re not doing it right!” was something I said all too often; I was completely sure at age 7 that I knew the best way to do everything, especially how to collect caterpillars, crack acorns, and smush dandelions. I knew that the best acorns were in the shade under the tree, and the best nut smashing rocks were the pieces of broken pavement found only where the parking lot met the playground. The far field had the brightest yellow dandelions; I never went to pick them because it was too far of a walk for me. I was too busy making sure that I was the first to claim the wooden picnic table in the shade closest to the best acorns. It was our table, and no one else's. This was a daily ritual for us, the kids who stayed after school because our parents worked late. Glancing at each others familiar faces day after day, waiting to go out, then rushing outside.

You have to skip running through the wood chips, they only slow you down, this I remember teaching myself. If you wanted to get there first you had to take a certain route. A couple friends and I dashed to our table, then ventured out to collect acorns. They were on the ground next to where I sat, so I would plop my little self down and start gathering, usually using my shirt as a makeshift pocket. (Later when I went home, I would be scolded for the dirt and markings left on the lower half of my shirt, but I continued to do it day after day.) One of my friends, Brenna, usually went off to collect dandelions, while Hannah sat at the table and used the best rocks to smash only the best acorns, that I collected. You have to extract what was inside the shell just right, or if it was rotten throw it away. The perfect ones were set aside to be used later. Brenna would bring back the dandelions from the far field. I would use my fingernail to smooth out the stems until they we drained of liquid, and Hannah would use the chunks of pavement to smash up the fluffy yellow tops. Then we mixed the two and made a creation we were very proud of. We would use the shelled acorns deemed perfect, and put them in our “salad”. We never ate it. During all of this we would chat about what was going on in our young little lives, occasionally stopping to yell at the boys for trying to steal our acorns, but for the most part having a jolly good time. Many other kids there did the same as us, but we were the only ones with an actual system.

During the fall time, the same tree that would give us acorns was also home to many furry little green caterpillars. I always looked forward to this time. When the wind was cold but the air was not. Kids would bring in jars, and bug containers, even some would use their cups left over from snack. Collecting caterpillars was something mostly the boys liked to do, but we found interest in it. Most of this became a competition; who could get the most caterpillars. No one really wanted to play with the wriggling things, they just wanted to be the one with the most caterpillars. We would spend our entire time outside doing nothing but simply catching our short-lived friends.

In the coming years I would get a whole plethora of devices, and my days of playing outside and inside with nothing but my imagination would slowly vanish. These days when I look around, I see everyone on a device of some sort, me included. No one plays a game that isn’t on their phone or computer. Sometimes it seems to me that although technology is wonderful, I haven’t done anything like what I used to at recess since I got a cell phone. I miss being outdoors and doing nothing but making up games with the people around me. Simplicity has ceased to exist when spending time with friends. You can’t pretend to be a cat or a Pokémon any more. You can’t make salad with acorns and dandelions. You can’t catch caterpillars for sport anymore. Not at our age, and not with technology to keep you busy everywhere. When I drive by a playground and I see young kids still running around, I feel hopeful. Maybe they will hold onto their imagination--for longer than I did.