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Many years ago and many tears ago
When bills were just something our parents worried about
When first kisses were still yet to be experienced
And summer days actually meant having a vacation

Back in the days when our parents didn’t worry about where we were
When we could leave the house before breakfast and come home again after the street lights came on
Back in the days when pinky swears were as good as gold
And cross your heart secrets were never told …
We rode our bikes, lit our farts with Bic butanes,
Went to swim team practices in the early morning mist
And played tag in the woods behind the Richter’s barn

And, in the way we played tag, our personalities and persona shone through
Some ran through the woods timid and slow and were always first to be tagged
Some were smart and cautious always aware of the best hiding places
Always knowing who was “it” and who was to be avoided and to stay away from
Some always followed others, hoping they could show them the way to avoid being tagged
Some always were the leaders, showing the way and helping others not to get caught

And then there was Doug

Doug, the son of the family who held on to their land, house, barn and homestead
One of the last remnants of an era passed
An island of farming family values surrounded by the suburban landscape springing up around them in every direction
The reason why there was still a patch of woods that we could run through playing tag

Doug was fast, though perhaps not the fastest
Doug was quick, though perhaps not the quickest
Doug was cunning, though perhaps not the smartest

But, what Doug was most often was … the last to be tagged

Doug would run through those woods with reckless abandon
There was not a sticker bush he would not run through to avoid being tagged
There was not a tree he wouldn’t climb
And then jump out of from the top
To avoid being tagged
The was not a ravine he wouldn’t jump
A mud puddle he wouldn’t splash through
A risk he wouldn’t take
To avoid being tagged

Many a boy, of which I counted myself often, was left holding his side in exhaustion
Watching the back side of Doug making his get-away once again

Doug was not one to hide
He could easily be found
Constantly on the move
Just never to be caught

And, that is the way I pictured Doug running through the woods of life

Never hiding from trouble
Never afraid to take risks
Constantly on the move
And, never being tagged
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