My third grade teacher, Mrs. Henderson, told my mother I got “frisky” in the springtime. In junior high, once April hit, I had a habit of developing deep, unrequited crushes on possibly inappropriate young men. In particular, exotic-looking 9th grade track team members who lived too far away for me to stroll casually past their house. In high school, as soon as the weather was warm enough, my friends and I would take late-night drives to local Lake Erie beaches, staying out way past curfew and possibly drinking entire 2-liters of Sun Country Wine Coolers in assorted flavors. Ah, Sun Country, the taste of lost innocence. In college, there was Spring Break and basketball and late nights, knowing our group of friends wouldn’t have the luxury of seeing each other 24/7 for a few months.
Hurdles
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