As I raced through the store, my boyfriend close in tow, I realized this game of tag was turning into the most fun event I’ve had in a long time. As happiness flooded through my body like the warmth of a first shot at a party, I was brought back to the year 1995 8212; me, standing on the blacktop of my elementary school overlooking all the shenanigans taking place.

I finally came back from my daydream and couldn’t help but miss my childhood. It must have been a weird moment for onlookers because I had stood in one spot with a blank expression. I could tell they looked slightly uncomfortable.

But what sane person wouldn’t miss those good old days of innocence? Especially now that my utilities are due next week and my bank account just made a giant offering to the institution known as San Diego State, which guzzled my financial aid and then demanded more funds in exchange for useless items called books. While giving my money to a severely indebted system was a bad decision on my part, let’s go back to my reminiscing.

Some of my fondest memories as a 7-year-old were the days I used to chase boys through the playground only to tackle them on the soccer field and try to kiss them. Funny, it seems like that must be a prerequisite to get into SDSU after seeing many girls chasing guys at parties only for them to end kissing later on. Hope that’s just a coincidence on my part.

Back in elementary school, I think my favorite game by far was Red Rover. I remember playing in P.E. with the class divided in half and each team standing hand in hand facing each other. Unfortunately, I always got stuck with the kid with the sweaty palms. As most rovers know, sweaty palms and Red Rover equal epic fail. It’s even worse if the other team can spot the weak link in the chain, which can be much like spotting a hickey on a neck 8212; there is just no realistic way to hide it.

On the days I was rovered out, I would play butts up with the boys. This was back when I was still a tomboy and would take scissors to my dresses to make a statement.

Dressing up was for picture day, which always resulted in more tears than smiles in my household. Those days made me feel like one of the little girls on “Toddlers & Tiaras.” Except, I wasn’t exactly cute and dainty because I was often found on my bike in “jump heaven” with the neighborhood boys, bloody elbows and all.

Though I loved recess, it still had negative effects. The worst part was the popular girls who would hide under the slide and tell secrets. They formed clubs that denied applicants faster than Perez Hilton can expose a celebrity secret. These girls would swap gossip and beauty tips at the tender age of 8, while the other girls hoarded around and gave them so much attention Lily Allen would be jealous.

Despite the terrible events that went down on the playground, which sadly included a kick in the stomach by a boy while waiting in line for tetherball, I miss romping around carefree in the school yard.

Back in those days, hot lava monster was a must. Well, until it snowed. Once snow hit, the monster gained an advantage because the snow helped them reach the high points and the game soon lost its appeal. It was like two fish in a bowl playing hide-and-seek 8212; it would just go back and forth without really accomplishing anything.

Even those who were not in my group of friends seemed to enjoy their childhood. They did as they pleased because this was a time in life where everyone was weird, so it didn’t matter. I even remember a girl named Katie who would go out every break and reenact “The Lion King” word for word. Man, I was jealous. She never let me be Rafiki, so I refused her friendship, but I saw the true genius in her playground anecdotes.

But hey, who am I to judge? I was the girl who loved Pogs with an untamed matte of hair that was barely visible under my maroon USC Trojans baseball cap and was slightly afraid of cooties for a short time. But that has long passed. I hope.

8212;Mallory Sharp is a journalism junior who wishes she could stay young forever.

8212;This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.