I was watching my daughter and some other kids playing on the playground earlier today, and I stood in awe, shock, and sometimes horror. Occasionally, I closed my eyes and only peeked through my fingers.
The playground had the usual playscape and assorted accoutrements – swings, weird animals and cars on giant springs that rocked back and forth, slides, a sad little sandbox. Children of various ages ran hither and yon, which I am assuming means all over the damn place, laughing, screaming, yelling and crying; although, one was very quiet and yet seemed maniacally happy. Regardless, it was pandemonium, which means it was a paradise for kids.
And I get why. I used to love the playground when I was little – who didn’t? In fact, I sometimes find myself looking for the merry-go-round or the teeter totters, my personal favorites, only to remember that they have been deemed unsafe, and, therefore, banned from the modern playground.
My daughter will never know what it was like to precariously balance the teeter totter perfectly in the middle with a friend, or walk across it, hoping not to fall and bust her face when the higher half of it began careening towards the ground faster than she expected. She won’t know the joy of getting someone lighter than her up at the high end of the teeter totter and then jumping off to watch them crash to the ground. Oh man! Those were the days.
And don’t even get me started on the nauseating death wheel that was the merry-go-round. There were only two speeds: fast enough for children to fly off due to centrifugal force and stopped. To be able to walk wobbly-legged but somehow still stay upright away from the merry-go-round was a sign of strength, but to fall only led to hilarity, not shame. It was the perfect equalizer on the playground.
Somehow, though, these beautiful contraptions have vanished from American parks.
But children are still children, or more accurately, most children are insane little thrill monkeys, and the rest are playing with the giant-sized xylophone at the other end of the park. Mine is a thrill monkey, and she can find a way to make almost any element of the playground deadly.
The slide? Let’s launch headfirst down the ramp into a tuck and roll. Those rocker thingys that look like animals or cars on a giant spring? Yeah, those are just miniature catapults. The tire swing? That’s the new merry-go-round. It’s like child-sized American Ninja Warrior out there, and my daughter loves every minute of it, and she’ll do it all in a flashy skirt, her BFF kitty t-shirt, and leopard ballet flats.
I’m sure you are asking, “Why don’t you stop her?”
Well, I do when I feel she is in eminent danger or a danger to other children, but most of the time I let her play. The last thing she needs to grow into a strong and confident woman is the hover mom I want to be. I mean, think about it: I survived, you survived.
She will survive.
Can I get a little Gloria Gaynor amen!
ONE BADD APPLE 