Acceptance

             I think it's unreasonable to ask children to keep their shoes on in such a place. My bare feet were always covered with calluses from walking down the rough road. It was hard to see from the road, and as far as I could tell, nobody ever went there- except for me.
             Large pines nearby stood tall and erect, looking down at the ripples and currents that nudged each other about playfully, like children in the back seat of a car on a long drive. Stones and pebbles lined the shallow bottom and allowed the water to glide in creative patterns over their smooth surfaces. Larger, moss-covered rocks dotted the bank and provided ideal spots for a child to sit and watch and wonder.
             The creek often taught me things; it was my mentor. Once I discovered tadpoles in several of my many eddies and stagnant pools that lines the small river. A cupped hand and a cleaned out mayonnaise jar aided me in clumsily scooping up some of the more slothful individuals. With muddy hands and knees, I set them on the kitchen table, and watched them daily as they developed into tiny frogs. I was fascinated by what was taking place before my eyes, but new questions constantly puzzled me. Dad was usually responsible for answering these curiosities. I was always up for a challenge. My friends and I used to jump from rock to rock in a kind of improvised hopscotch obstacle course that tested our balance and agility against one another. Most of my friends were older than me, and I always wanted to beat them at this game. I practiced every weekend in order to improve. On the rare occasion that I outdid them, I wore a goofy smirk for the rest of the day.
             The creek was also a frontier. The stream extended far into the depths of the forest. I thought that if I wondered too far into the darkness, I might be consumed by it and never heard from again. Gradually overcoming my fear, I embarked on expeditions. As my body grew in height and weight, my boundaries grew in extent and breadth.