JOYRIDE III

The spring is the season when I feature the best student work from my essay class at Atlantic Cape Community College. This week’s column is by Erin Martin. She is a graduate of Oakcrest High School.
Whenever I think of spring, there is an overwhelming sense that fills my ears. It is the sound of wet rain boots on linoleum. It took me longer than most children to realize that it was annoying to other people.
I personally enjoy that squeaking sound, so I made a habit of doing it at every chance I got. My Grandma responded as if I had screeched nails against a chalkboard. I don’t think there is anything else that makes her nearly that angry. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen unless I took off my boots.
Splashing through puddles has been a ritual for me since I was little. Once the weather started to get warm in the spring, my mom would suit me up in raingear and send me outside to play in the puddles. I’m sure parenting books advise against such activity, but kids need to get dirty.
Before I was old enough for school, my mom and I waited at the end of our driveway for my older sister to get home from fourth grade. I remember trying to recruit her for my puddle splashing parade, but she was apparently too old for getting mud on her clothes.
I have another attachment to thunderstorms. My dad and I would curl up on the front porch wrapped up in a comforter anxiously. He taught me how to figure out the distance of the approaching storm by counting the seconds in between a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder.
Maybe it is a coincidence that I was born in April, the rainiest month of the year, but my attachment with the rain seems to grow each year.
I’m far from being a morning person, but I like to wake up to the sound of rain tapping on my window.
It has been a while since I had bought new rain boots so I decided to search for some that matched my personality. After a long search, I chose a pair of bright blue, green, and yellow plaid, rubber rain boots.
The boots are roomy, but tall enough to hug my calf muscles with enough space to tuck my pant legs in. I also like to stretch my legs out when I sit down and make subtle squeaks by rubbing my boots together.
I have to be careful with what I wear with these boots now because I’m at high risk of being arrested by the fashion police. The worst time was when I got dressed in a camouflage shirt: toting a white and brown giraffe print purse, all while sporting those obnoxious plaid boots.
No matter how old we are, all of us need to play in puddles sometimes.
Keith Forrest is an assistant professor of communication at Atlantic Cape Community College. His late Mother Libby Demp Forrest Moore wrote the Joyride column for this newspaper for 20 years.