There was a game I used to play as a child. We'd form two opposite groups, both of which held hands in a line. The first team would chant, "Red Rover, Red Rover, send _____ right over!" The person named ran as fast as they could in order to break the "chain" formed by the other team. If they were successful, they could choose an opposing team member to bring back to their own side. If they were unsuccessful, they had to join the other team's side. The group with the most people at the end of the game won.
When a member of the other team ran as fast as they could toward my part of the chain, I began to tighten my grip on my teammates' hands and tell them not to let go. I had a rush of adrenaline in that moment, as if everything depended upon me.
Then there was the feeling I'd get when my name was called. I'd grit my teeth, try to find the weakest link, and run like the wind (or so I thought). I loved the feeling of breaking through and bringing someone back with me to the other side. I had proven stronger than the opposite team. I had broken the chain. I had "rescued" someone from what was sure to be the losing team. It was always a proud moment for me.
Sometimes, I think life is similar to that old game.
