Playground Pretend

My feet take me back to the small world of my childhood. The gate bent and graffitied and the playground now small and drab. The plank is now a faded green with scratches of hearts of incomprehensible words and drawings. The fireman’s pole is scratched and small. The stairs and bridge you would run up and down sunken in since the last I’ve been here. 

The rubber tire turf is now torn up and replaced with sand and softer material. The soft material contrast with the playground bullies. The tall roof the older kids would climb and sit on. The ones who ruled the kingdom and told you what to do. The swings and the sounds of kids echo as the pinches and squeaking of the chains remind me of the “who can jump the furthest” or the “who can jump the highest” competitions. Whoever would win would rule the world. The spinning donut with the legend of all the kids who sat on the green strip would throw up. The monkey bars and the kids who sat on top. The pull-up bars used for flips and tricks instead. The memories they hold as they are brought back little by little with each step. Each step transports me further and further into the past giving me nostalgia for the good days. The small feet running around playing tag or house. Little girls who get to finally be with their playground crush even if they’re only playing pretend. 

My feet take me through the adventures I created with playground friends I only saw once. The tall tales of adventurers who found new lands, of a princess being saved by their dream prince, or pretending to be a teenager. My hands act out the exaggerated pictures I would draw out for my playmates, and all of the various ways I would explain what I saw. It was one great game of improv. A game only children seemed to understand. It didn’t need to be interesting but the building of characters and their relationships could make the most mundane activity come to life. I come back as an adult and I see the joy each child holds, and their life. I see myself running around in dresses too large for my frame. In my poorly matched pants and t-shirts. My little pigtails and bangs chasing boys. The swings and slides as we see it now merely just play toys for the little ones. The innocent are here to play and forget their little tiny troubles in their small world. 

My lips turn into a smile as I think about how different the outside world is compared to the world here. I think about how it’s considered eccentric and uncivilized it is to be different. How we all urge ourselves to be the same. But on the playground, we are one and the same. We are all little kids who only wanted to play. The outside world would hit them hard, and they wouldn’t understand it. They would be so lost. Their personalities will be stripped away and leaving them naked and vulnerable only to be covered back up with the latest trends and fashions. Their happy little lives running around. 

I remember playing house with friends of mine and making more friends without ever learning their names but rather giving them given names. It wouldn’t matter if they weren’t from here. We may not even be pretending but running around and having the time of our lives for a short period of time. Our parents sitting on benches watching us. I am now the parent without the child. I watch the kids use the slide as a plank and use the pole to be firemen. They use the bride to jump around on. Using the bars to show their gymnastic skills and their strength. The sand to build crumbly sandcastles from the water fountain and the toys the last kid left. The kids on the swing. Swinging the wrong way and pushing the other off, or twisting it around until you fell to the ground giggling and dizzy. I was happy and nothing was drab. 

My family would create stories together, and I would act them out at the playground giving the kids different roles and I would give myself the best role. I would tell them how they should be and they would go along. I was always bossy and ready to give everyone a piece of my mind. Of course, I can’t do that in the world now, I’d probably get arrested and detained. The world is a different place compared to the free kingdom of the playground. 

I’ve walked circles around the little playground now, reminiscing in my time as a child. The playground is drab falling apart but kids still play on it. A little girl runs around with a little boy throwing sand and jumping on the bridge. Doing exactly as I would have done. Shockingly the two parents aren’t talking to each other. The relationship between the two will never exist. They are content with watching their children run around and play with another child, the are happy as well. They are free from their corporate world, from the stresses of our jobs. My hands run on the dirty green fence that many have now made their mark on. Many words of profanity are scratched on to it. Words that don’t exist, nicknames, love notes, lists, broken promises and little hearts with names. A moment in time you made a memory with the playground. The little drab playground holds memories of many. The memories we may not want to return to, or memories of our purer times. Despite the blood, sweat, tears, giggles, words, and love all around the playground. The playground itself is not loved. The playground remains drab old and potentially hazardous. There is no care given to the playground. It stands with the sun beating down on the old grimey plastic while children run around in it. It takes the beating so the kids do not. We owe it to the playground for our memories.