My sister Catherine tells me a story of a summer injury. She asked her children to join her in a childhood game played on the beach: Duck on a Rock.
click here: Catherine demonstrating her moves
I knew the name, but had no recollection of playing it or even watching it be played. Only a loose association to my grandfather, my uncles, danger, and laughter.
My sisters Rebecca and Mary are currating and archiving my mother's papers. I pick up an unassuming coil ring notebook, goldenrod in colour. I flip it open and the phrase "Duck On a Rock" pop out at me. Arta writes, in the fall of 1987:
I'm still carrying the scars from my last week at the lake. I showed my black and blue skin to Moiya and told her it was my legacy from playing the beach game "Duck On A Rock." She enquired as to why a mature adult woman would get invovled in that game. I explained that it was because only the younger children were playing and they had no one willing to be "it." I could hardly gasp for air. Those little children are quick and fast. I've sat by and watched the game. I know it ends when a flying rock hits a shin. My shin showed blood first. The kids didn't even have the decency to quit. I ran for the water
Arta's writing makes me smile. Was this a rough draft that made it into a letter? Dear reader, were you a "younger child" on the beach that summer? Do you have any legacy scars from Duck On A Rock?
Somhow this story is hitting a little too close to home.
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