Do you remember the first playground you ever played out? Probably not. For most of us, our parents took us to a playground when we were just old enough to sit up and go down a slide with them or sit in their laps on a swing. Certainly not big enough to climb much or break some bone swinging on monkey bars. I have pictures of me at playgrounds long before my memory kicks in. In fact, I was five before I can actually remembera playground.
It was in Lewisburg, Tennessee at the Park and Recreation Center. I spent a lotof time there. The pool was there, so swim lessons and hot summer days were spent splashing around, doing cartwheels off the low board and springing off the high dive. (My second choice, after gymnastics, for a summer Olympic event to compete in was platform diving!) The tennis courts were there, so when Mom played tennis my siblings and I (with our sitters) dashed around the walking trail and played on all the exercise features. I had summer day-camp there, met up with Grandma at the golf course once or twice for some reason, went to social events in the community building and hunted Easter eggs in the park. Since it was just down a back entrance from the high school football field, on Friday nights we parked there and walked up to the field for games. After all, it’s the South. Everyonewho isanyoneis at the high school football field on Friday night. And…it was also my dad’s old high school team.
Now the playground…well, like many things in Tennessee, the equipment was interspersed among lots of tall trees. No large castle looking thing, mulched or rubber matted area or a remote semblance of organization. The seesaws were in one location, the dirt hard-packed under the seats bumped by thousands of children. In another location was the merry-go-round, sitting proudly in the middle of the deep rut millions of feet had trampled over years of play. There was a “pick-up truck” made from steel pipes and wood. I remember at least one slide, maybe two. I think one was higher than the other, both were made from steel that burnedin the summer and they didn’t sit near each other. I think there were swings, but I must not have spent much time on them because I don’t remember them. One of those rounded monkey bar things I loved to hang upside down and flip off of. And a really old merry-go-round like thing that hung up on a pole by chains. Think of a maypole, only chains and bar that made a circle you could sit or hang from while it went around. I thought it was really cool, probably because I couldn’t reach it for years. But I do remember being able to at least jump and swing myself up by the time we moved away when I was almost nine.
During the 1980s, that playground was quite typical. In fact, I can’t remember a playground at a school or park that was much different. Who knows how long it had been around. My parents had probably played on some of that equipment. And even though there is another playground now, I think the old “pick-up truck” remains. The fact that any of those pieces of equipment are now considered quite dangerous boggles my mind. I don’t remember any of my playmates getting hurt. I certainly didn’t, and I was forever flipping, cartwheeling and jumping off anything that could possibly be flipped, cartwheeled or jumped off. It was just a fun place to be. It didn’t matter how hot it was or how cold. It was always fun to play at the park.
I viewed it much like my kids view parks. They don’t think about danger, or falling, or the fact gravity even exists (especially Ethan). A park is simply a place to have fun, run with other kids, and imagine whatever you want to imagine that day. Just as a park should be.
