• R. E. Maynard

Playground


Playground

The clouds crackled together loudly, thunderous with explosive rage, as we pulled into the park one Winter’s day. My father drove us through the drive-thru of my favorite burger place, and not even the clown who made our lunch topped a Christmas Eve like this very special day.

A down pour drenched the landscape with rippling puddles resembling small ponds, while the temptation to escape the vehicle became obvious to my Dad’s grossly childish attention span. He gave us the go ahead to run and play, and the rain dumped buckets, heavy, as winds powered the storm frightfully, while brewing emotions riddled my childbearing heart, truly this was a moment to forever cherish in a life of realistic dreams.

We were lucky enough to have this moment in time, captive in a fantasy, forged in dysfunction, and lessoning an important factor in the life of a now grown man. No history caused less than simple forgiveness, the hurtful actions of any human being can be a promising chance to inspire playing in the rain.

Forgiveness is a lot like a raging storm front, as the perfect mixture of warmth and cool come together to empower the winds of change. Just as I found freedom on that cold, wet, chaotic playground that oddly enjoyable day, it shall always be the memories made proving worthy of a father, his son, and our rainy stay.

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R. E. Maynard 

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