I remember when I was 6 or 7 we had a May Day celebration. I don't remember the details about it, like who put it on or really what was going on, but I can close my eyes and see it. It's the first day of May and I'm full of joy. I'm in a long dress with an old-fashoned pinafore tied on me and a bundle of wild flowers in my pocket, my long hair streaming behind me in the fresh spring wind. We arrive at the park across the street from the university, my mother and I, and I take my shoes off and leave them with her. I see the Maypole and all the happy people with flower wreaths in their hair eating apples and funnel cakes. I remember a little band with flutes and tamborines and drums playing springtime music. There's a low stone wall that encloses the grassy area, and there are streamers taped to the wall. The streamers and the ribbons from the Maypole and all the people's hair are floating with the light breeze. It's sunny and warm and wonderful. There are games, I remember, like a dunking booth and dart throwing and the like, but I can't play them. I can't play them because I have to dance around the Maypole. That is the most important event of the day, when all the barefooted young girls and boys gather together to dance and weave around the Maypole. The ribbons are pastel blue and pink and green and yellow, and the girls get the pink and yellow ribbons while the boys get blue and green. All the people gather around the Maypole with their flowers and their fruit to watch us dance. And then the music starts to play, and we begin to skip around the tall wooden pole, young pagans giving praise to the gods of spring with our wild hair and our high-pitched, honest laughter. And all the while, the people clap along and sometimes dance in their own little circles. Slowly, with each revolution I make, I look up to see the downward progression of the ribbons around the pole. We keep skipping and twisting and dancing to the music until we can weave between each other no longer and have to walk in a fast circle, one behind the other in boy-girl order, to finish the ribbons to the end. And then the tradition is finished, and I am filled with joy. Happy May Day. I am that joyful child.