My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.
~Maggie Kuhn

I was taking my fourteen-year-old granddaughter to soccer practice and I was running behind. As we backed down the driveway, she drummed her fingers on the armrest.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Coach’s rule is we have to run a lap for every minute we’re late.”

“That seems harsh,” I said. “But don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll get there on time.”

I eyed the dashboard clock. The practice field reserved that day was located at the farthest end of a local high school, just beyond their outdoor stadium. That added several minutes to our drive.

My granddaughter jiggled her foot while we waited at a red light.

“So, what other rules does your new coach have?” I asked, trying to divert her attention.

“No earrings. Our shin guards have to be in place, our soccer shoes tied tight, and he doesn’t like us to wear our cleats off the field.” She turned to me. “And we have to be picked up on time.”

When the light finally turned green, she twisted her long blond hair into a ponytail. “Can you drive faster?”

I patted her knee. “Almost there.”

Then we ran into a traffic jam. She took off her sneakers and put on her shin guards as we pulled into the parking lot.

Rows of out-of-town buses lined the perimeter. A sign on the marquee announced the school was hosting a regional sports tournament. I drove down row after row searching for an empty space.

With few minutes to spare, my granddaughter pulled on her thick athletic socks and laced up her soccer shoes.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to wear your cleats off the field,” I said.

“I’m not, but I don’t have time to change on the bench. Just stop and drop me off here.”

I kept driving. “Hold on. I’m sure we’ll find something closer.”

As if in answer to my wish, several slots were open near the entrance to the stadium. A sign printed in bold letters read: “RESERVED FOR SENIORS.”

“Whew!” I pulled into the closest space.

“You can’t park here, Grandma.”

“Sure I can.” I pointed to the sign. “I’m a senior.”

She grabbed her gear and opened the door. “Um, Grandma, these parking places are reserved for HIGH SCHOOL seniors, not senior citizens. You’ll get a ticket if you don’t move.”

I shrugged and smiled. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. See you in an hour.”

I rolled down my window and inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass as I watched her trot to her practice field just in time. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled how fearful I was of getting into trouble when I was her age. My parents were strict, and the nuns at the all-girls’ high school I attended were the same. Disobeying rules or questioning authority weren’t tolerated.

But I’ve grown older — and bolder — since then.

If I was asked to move, I’d argue that since the sign didn’t specify which type of seniors the parking spaces were reserved for, I wasn’t breaking any rules. Feeling sassy, I tuned the radio to a station that played music from my high-school days.

When “Wild Thing” by The Troggs came on, I sang along and danced in my seat, enjoying my rebellious senior moment.

— Donna Volkenannt —