Rain.

Writer:
Abderhamane Alou Mainassara from Niger

NOTE FROM MRS. BOWLES: The students in Level Two Writing have been reading about games. Last week, the writers had to send me an E-mail about a memory of a childhood game. I received this message from Alou on a rainy day that broke the long dry spell in Arkansas.

Memory is like a love story, sometimes whimsical, sometimes generous, but always desirable and essential. In our memories, those we prefer are more often our childhood memories, and from these memories come first our childhood games memories. For me, I think sometimes to my childhood games memories especially when it rains.

Do you ever look at rain falling down? Not a storm or a tornado, but a quiet rain falling down silently. It is miraculous, majestic and beautiful. I have liked rain since I was a child, and I remember often when my friends and I played soccer in the rain. I remember the cold drops of water fighting my face and wetting all my clothes and my body; I remember the paddling in the puddles, the joy and the feeling of liberty that it gave us, but I don't want to remember the furiousness of my mother and the spankings I got each time I did it.

This is a quickly related childhood game memory that unfortunately my age doesn't allow me to play again.