Playground Perils

The playground of my elementary school was a suburban wonderland. It was a long expanse of land right by the street, always buzzing with activity and the cheerful sounds of childhood. For most kids, it was absolute paradise. And from my point of view, they were all delusional. As a scrawny third grader, I’d look around at the endless array of equipment and shake my head. The playground might as well have been sprinkled with rusty nails, shards of glass and crack pipes. No, thank you, Cruel World. I'd think... "If only the others could see it through the right lens - mine - they’d never step foot off the blacktop again."

Now before you judge my – okay, clearly pathetic – decision to steer clear of any and all playground equipment for the entirety of my elementary career, let me break down the gruesome elements of this Playground of Horror.

Zone One: Precarious Metal Jungle

In this section, we have three large structures made only of curved metal bars welded into ridiculous shapes so that overexcited prepubescent children can climb, swing and dangle from any limb they choose:

First, there’s what was widely referred to as The Apple. Essentially, a three-dimensional steel fruit teeming to capacity with frantic little ankle-biters. They’d dart and weave through this thing with a level of gusto usually reserved for inmates being released from jail. I suppose, in this context, “jail” was likely to be Social Studies with Mr. Hollingsworth. And if this giant piece of produce doesn’t sound dangerous enough, don’t forget the stem. A nice long crowbar sticking out the top. It was every kid’s objective to reach the apex and victoriously wrap his or her legs around this metal pipe boiling in the afternoon sun. As your inner thighs receive second-degree burns, you can now relax, pompously perched at the peak of the Apple, and wave to your royal subjects below. Of course, your reign as King of the Playground lasts all of three seconds. A throng of wild monkeys are whining for their turn and tugging at your Ninja Turtles t-shirt, threatening to usurp the throne and yank you off the structure entirely.

Beside The Apple was another behemoth called The Spider. This one consisted of four long metal ladders curved like the legs of a spider. If this Steel Trap had any advantage over the others, it was a slightly decreased level of claustrophobic, rabid activity. Everyone knew if you weren’t focused while ascending this Metal Mountain, you’d slip through the gaping hole between each rung and soon have a swollen mouthful of wood chips. You can understand the need for undivided attention. Whose brainy idea was it in the first place to bend a ladder, the most perilous of all structures, into a 90 degree arc, then send some school children up in nothing but a pair of Jellies and a cloud of false confidence. At this point, you might be thinking… at least these daredevil youngsters have a nice, comfortable respite once they’ve reached the summit. Why, of course not. After all four best friends giggle and clamber their way to the top, their only reward is to share a miniature metal platform wide enough for one. So, to sum up, we now have four 7-year-olds dangling atop a metal arachnid as tall as the school itself, forced to squeeze onto a tiny square of skin-searing hot steel. Oh, joy. Climb down, Jessica; I want a turn!

Last but not safe, we have the third member of the Hazardous family: The Soda Can. Of course, this structure has the tell-tale cylindrical shape of a can of Coke. Or, if we’re promoting the turn around of childhood obesity, a can of V8. Circling around the top were a series of uneven monkey bars of different heights. (Side note: Someone should really change the name of these so-called “monkey” bars so kids stop dangling from one elbow like they’re hanging off a branch.) If you had the ability to actually scale this thing and reach the highest bars, you were invariably one of two types:

1) Athletic & overconfident, male, showing off in front of friends, injury likely.

2) Scrawny and lucky, female, beat the odds, injury even more likely.

Unlike the Apple with its inner web of metal branches, the inside of this Can was hollow. This created the perfect amount of abyss through which to fall before dislocating a shoulder or snapping an ankle. Either way, you were almost certain to snack on a jagged mouthful of aforementioned wood chips.

Zone Two: Minefield of “Fun”

As appealing as the metal structures were, this sector was the real hub of the playground. Sitting in yet another ocean of chipped wood, this area buzzed with social activity. Boys pulling pigtails; make-believe weddings; hide-and-seek tag. I, of course, rarely came within yards of this ominous cult of equipment.

If all of the structures were peasants, the Big Slide was King. He was tall, wide, and bright orange. Some kids might’ve smiled up at His Madgesty and pictured a warm sunset or a giant cheese puff (both equally worthy of a child’s adoration). I occasionally squinted from my post a mile away and saw nothing but evil. Why? Just like everything else on that playground, the King Slide was not covered by an inch of shade. He’d been soaking up sun rays since before we were born and was saving them in a secret arsenal of energy. Meaning, of course, that every time some poor soul dedicated half of his recess time to waiting in line, he was greeted by six or seven static shocks on his way down. The number of electric shocks exceeded the number of seconds your ride lasted, every time. Granted, the pain was not lasting or severe by anyone’s standards. But in the mind of a timid third grader, these shocks rivaled those of Ben Franklin in that damn thunderstorm.

Running perpendicular to The Electric Slide were two equally orange-tastic slides. These were thinner, attached at the hip like Siamese twins and despite being in the sun, never gave a single shock to its riders. “Eureka!” you say, “Finally a slide I can get behind!” Unfortunately, my friend, you are mistaken. What the Twins lacked in electrical charge they made up for in wetness. Two identical puddles sat at the bottoms of these slides, just waiting for a pair of unsuspecting kindergarteners to dampen their pants (and spirits) for the rest of the day. The reliability of these puddles defied every law of science. Drought in the area? Didn’t matter. Evaporation? No, sir. Lapped up by woodland creatures? Not on my watch. Come rain, shine, hell or high water … there was an unyielding puddle of muddy water waiting for he who dared to slide.

Another staple of any playground were the monkey bars. You might have guessed, but I was not the adventurous type. Combine that deficiency with a splash of social anxiety and a dollop of upper arm weakness… you’ve got the recipe that kept me off these metal contraptions for four years. Not even one attempt. Meanwhile, my new pal (and future best friend / borderline wife) Amanda was showing up a whole line of boys one-handed. Literally. She was born with one hand. She’d just hook a wrist and scurry across that horizontal ladder like nobody’s business. Even with that kind of role model in place, I was certain a broken wrist or mild concussion was in my future. Why tempt the fates?

Zone Three: Field of Dreams Nightmares

Okay, the title of this zone is purely for effect. There was nothing scary or ominous about the soccer field that stretched across a third of the playground. I actually have very fond memories of carnivals and relay races on that neatly mowed lawn. But within the context of recess, it was still an area I shied away from. During this time, it was mostly used for athletic individuals to play around with their other sporty friends and hone their skills. (Side note: The term “skills” is used loosely here to mean moderate ability to dribble a soccer ball or toss a baseball in any given direction. By no means was a future David Beckham or Cole Hamels among us.) It might not have been my type of crowd, but at least I wasn’t up against giant metal behemoths or anything orange.

Now you might not agree completely with my perspective on this playground. No one with any amount of logic, life experience or social aptitude would. But with a minefield like that for a playground, you can’t blame a girl for wanting to kick back in the shade of the blacktop and write stories about Beanie Babies.