Grounded In Play

 I have very distinct memories of wandering onto the playground of my old elementary school when classes were not in session. This was long before I considered a career in education. It was during a time when those hours spent in classrooms felt interminable, and summer vacatios was a distan oasis on the horizon of ever day. To be out, to be free. If they would just let me go, I would never look back. 

Until I missed the merry-go-round. Or those swings. Then my friends and I would hop on our bikes and make the perilous half-mile journey to those open expanses that we had promised we would never see again. Til it was absolutely necessary. We did not walk, as was customary in those days. We did not expect to have to lock up our bikes, chaining them to the rack out front. They would always be nearby, in case we needed to make good our escape from whatever evil forces might conspire to keep us here. 

Against our will.

Because that was the difference. That great big expanse of mostly green grass. Jungle gyms and slides. And that merry-go-round. Some of the kids iin my neighborhood had swingsets that gave us moments of thrills reminiscent of those experienced out on the playground, but nothing compared to the long chains and rubber seats that could be found outside our school. 

It only occurs to me now that this was probably the thinking, at some level, of the planning involved in creating a playground: Make it interestig enough that kids will flock to it and make it a reason enough to come to school. Sure, there's a spelling test, but there's also that merry-go-round. Kind of a toss-up when you're nine years old. And for those lazy afternoons when we were uninterrupted by bells or that spelling test, it was a treat and a secret prize for us who dared to make the trek.

We would be back soon enough.