Lisa Toboz
hopscotch
When commentators as far flung as Eddie Izzard and the great Argentine author Julio Cortázar share an interest in a child’s game played with chalk, stone, and rhyme, you know there is more to the bounds and screams of little girls’ hopscotch sessions than meets the eye. In Germany, the deep metaphysical symbolism given to these tiny playground leaps (back and forth, up and down, better or worse) is evident in the name the game bears there—”Heaven and Hell.” Ritual chants, arcane rules, and improbable punishments given out for accidental missteps? Sounds like a match to me.
Philosophical treatises aside, hopscotch has an elemental appeal. Hot asphalt burning under your hands as you chalk—wind under your feet as you hurdle the path laid out before you. The last days of summer demand these diversions.
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