When I was six years old, I was borderline lesbian crushing on this chick Stacey in my class. She had blonde hair and pink headbands and Lisa Frank stickers on her cheeks and her shoes lit up when they made contact with the ground. She had it going on. Clearly.

I really wanted to be her friend, but kids are possibly the most socially selective gang ever, and there was something about me that wasn’t buddy material for Stacey.

She and her other two more somehow qualified friends would always play some variation of jumprope during recess. I seriously thought that was the worst thing ever, partially/totally fueled by the fact that I sucked at jumprope. I mean, I could jump by myself — that wasn’t the question. They didn’t do any of that amateur solo jumping that you had to do for cardio when they cut your school’s P.E. budget. They did that double dutch suicidal shit where, I’m convinced, it’s a crapshoot every single time you run in as to whether or not you get slapped in the face by America’s most hazardous playground accessory.

I knew that my in with this clique was through recess, but since I didn’t want to look like the victim of a hit and run, I needed to think of a better activity to woo them with. So I walked over to Stacey and I was like, “Do you want to play a super fun game?”

And she was like, “What game?”

“It’s a game my older sister plays,” I said.

I don’t have an older sister.

But the thing is, when you’re a kid, older people are cool and grant any experience with absolute credibility. That’s why high school girls think it’s awesome that they drink Miller High Life on the weekends with guys who graduated around the time of their first menstruation.

It’s kind of embarrassing when that light bulb finally turns on.

Anyway, obviously she agreed — and thus, her minions agreed — and so I had to think of a game in around the time it takes for you to say “this game is called.” And so I did. It was called Turnaround Tag, and the rules are kind of embedded in the title: It’s like normal tag, but when you’re being chased and you’re over it, you just TURN AROUND. Then you’re it, and the tagger becomes the taggee. Needless to say, it was an instant schoolyard classic.

In hindsight, I think I should have been the more sought-after playmate. I was practically a Milton Bradley meets Jillian Michaels visionary, and she just had fake ponies on her face.